


Save Them All

by BJackson



Series: The Other and the Observer [1]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Angst, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 10:46:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5537006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BJackson/pseuds/BJackson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al finds himself in an alternate timeline where Sam is working for the evil leapers. If he can't get Sam on his side before this leap is over, his friend could be lost forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

    With a mighty crash, a panicked Sam Beckett kicked open the door of the bar he'd just been in and tripped his way ungracefully outside. Ignoring the disappointed female moans from within, he leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and panted for breath. As the sound of jazz music danced through the air, he pulled at his lipsticked shirt collar in an attempt to fan himself off. It was a hot and muggy day, even in the shade of the porch, but he wasn't entirely sweating from the heat.  
  
    "Oh boy..." he exhaled.  
  
    Over his short time on this leap so far, there were a few things he'd been able to piece together on his own. From the various Mardi Gras paraphernalia all around town, it was safe to assume he was in New Orleans near the time of the festival, date to remain seen, but from the dress and the vehicles he judged it to be somewhere in the 50s. He had leaped into someone named Ben, and Ben was very popular with ladies of the disreputable sort. Great. Why couldn't he have leaped into an elderly, celibate librarian? He could be sitting in a comfy chair with a few cats right now, instead of sweating through a shirt which, swell, was now missing a few buttons at the top. He'd been yanked inside the bar by a few of his fans as he was passing by, and he'd turned very red when hands had found new places to explore.  
  
    A perfectly normal thread of embarrassment for Sam, which started when he'd leaped in while stepping off of a bus, causing him to lose his balance and fall face down onto the asphalt. The scrapes on his hands, in turn, had spurred on a fresh bout of complaining, something else which Sam was very good at. After that, with no luggage and no identification on him, he'd had no choice but to wander around town and wait for Al to show up. And speak of the devil...  
  
    "Whoever you got in a fight with, I think they won."  
  
    Sam opened his eyes and saw Al standing next to him, appearing every bit a part of the time they'd landed in. At least, it was less of an eyesore than his usual attire. He thought he looked quite dapper in a red vest over a white shirt, with pinstriped pants and a red fedora atop his head. Al leaned in closer as he took in Sam's disheveled appearance.  
  
    "Al," Sam gasped, "There were six of them!"  
  
    "Six of who?" his friend asked with concern, eyes darting toward the bar protectively.  
  
    "Six women! They were grabbing at me like I was a piece of meat!" As Sam relived the mortifying memory, he swallowed and shook his head. He couldn't get out of there fast enough!  
  
    Al rolled his eyes and blew out a breath of relief. "Ah, I see. _Everyone_ was a loser then."  
  
    "Al!" Sam yelled admonishingly, "I'm not going to sleep with a bunch of women I don't know!"  
  
    "Why not?" his friend questioned sincerely, "I would."  
  
    A glare. "Of course you would." If Al were the leaper, Sam thought, he'd be a very irresponsible time traveler. Wait a second. Had he been a leaper before? Sam wasn't sure, but the thought gave him a sense of deja vu.  
  
    "Relax, Sam," said Al as he jovially stepped onto the street to take in the view, "You need to let loose a little. It's almost Mardi Gras! Tell me you remember Mardi Gras."  
  
    Sam wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I remember Mardi Gras, Al."  
  
    "It's the best!" The admiral spread his arms out as he soaked in the atmosphere. "I took my fourth...or was it my third...? No, I remember now, my second wife, I took her to Mardi Gras in the late 70s. It was my shortest marriage, but the memories here, ho ho, those were good enough to last a lifetime." He grinned as he waxed nostalgic.  
  
    His enthusiasm was infectious, and Sam found himself smiling too. He stepped up closer to his holographic friend. "I don't think I've ever been to Mardi Gras."  
  
    "Oh, you'd love it, Sam," Al assured him, sucking his lips together excitedly. He bounced on his heels. "It's a total blast! The _floats_ , the _music_ , the _women_..." His hands told the story along with him, ending with a suggestive pantomime over his chest. "Ohhhh, the women..." He trailed off as his imagination ran away with him.  
  
    Smirking and sliding his gaze sideways, Sam decided to ignore that last part. "What am I here for, Al?"  
  
    "We don't know yet," Al threw out casually, shoving his hand into his pants pocket and rooting around for the handlink.  
  
    This wasn't a particularly surprising reveal. Sam leaned against a beam on the porch and waited to be told all about the person he'd leaped into.  
  
    "Fortunately for you, the guy in the Waiting Room has minimal swiss-cheesing, so we were able to come up with a background pretty quickly." Al finally produced Ziggy's block of candy-colored cubes, pressed a few buttons, and read the screen. "It's March 2nd, 1957. You're in--"  
  
    "New Orleans."  
  
    "--New Orleans, right, and you've leaped into Benjamin...Rrrrrichelieu." It was obvious he was having a little trouble with the name, so he tried to "fancy" it up with a slight, possibly-French accent. "You're 18, and your father may...may..." He squinted at the screen in bafflement before knocking the side of the handlink with his palm. "Oh! Mayor. Your father's the mayor. Say, that's neat. Your only other family is your younger sister, Florette."  
  
    Sam frowned. "What about their mother?"  
  
    Al consulted the handlink and tilted his head. "No mother. She died giving birth to Florette in '42."  
  
    It was as if he'd just found out about the loss of one of his own family members. Sam took a moment of respectful silence before continuing. "I leaped in here on a bus coming in from out of town. Was I on a trip?"  
  
    Al finished carefully lighting his cigar, taking a drag before answering. "Ah, well see, Ben is sort of the black sheep of the family. Y'know, drinking, gambling, that sort of thing. Once he graduated high school, he decided to take a break before college, you know, see the world? Unfortunately, he, uh, ran out of funds a couple states over, so now he's crawling back on daddy's dollar."  
  
    "Oh great," Sam sighed, his head falling back, "I've leaped into another _jerk_!"  
     
    "No no, Sam," said Al, wagging a finger at him, "I've talked to Ben a little bit, and I think mostly he's a good kid. He might have some bad habits, but he seems pretty harmless. Just needs somebody to set him on the straight and narrow."  
  
    Sam bit back a grin. He sounded a bit like someone he knew. "Do you think that's what I leaped in for? To help Ben clean up his act?"  
  
    Al shrugged. "Could be. Or maybe...you leaped in here to party." He snapped and did a little dance.  
  
    Sam laughed. "I think you'd enjoy this leap more than me, Al."  
  
    Hmmm, good point. Al was facing the street again, surveying the passerby cheerfully. "Maybe I would." His eyes flickered downward as a beautiful young woman caught his eye. Her dress bounced along with each perky step. Wowza! He leaned over to get a good eyeful of her caboose. "Especially if all of the broads looked like _that_. Boy, I'd love to play house with _her_!"  
  
    Unexpectedly, the woman gasped, pivoted around, and Al felt the sting of her hand coming into shocking contact with his face.  
  
    The stunned Italian was too flabbergasted to move. He couldn't even lift his hand to his steadily reddening cheek, instead opting to stand there motionless and slack jawed. How could that woman touch him?! She shouldn't even be able to see or hear him! He couldn't wait to hear whatever ludicrous techno babble Ziggy came up with to explain how he could be slapped across 43 years, because his brain was coming up with nothin'. A few monosyllabic nonsense sounds escaped his lips.  
  
    "Of all the nerve!" the woman huffed, "You should show women some more respect!" Al's eyes bugged out as she poked him angrily in the chest before stomping away.  
  
    At long last, he finally managed to stammer out something intelligible. Mostly. "What--I--Howza--? Sam, did you see that?!" He whirled around to face his friend.  
  
    Sam was gone.  
  
    "Sam?" Al asked in confusion, his eyes sweeping the area. Out of the faces passing by, not one of them matched the quantum physicist. Where could he have gone so quickly? Why would he leave in the middle of the conversation? Did he not see what impossible thing had just occurred? "Gooshie, center me on Sam," Al ordered. He lifted his hand to punch in the sequence on the handlink, only to find an empty palm. "What the...?"  
  
    He looked down. Gone was his favorite red vest, replaced by a short-sleeved tan shirt with missing buttons, straight out of Dull City. In vain desperation, his hands flew to his head and felt for his hat, but that, too, was missing. His new clothes were familiar, hell, they should've been, he just saw Sam wearing them seconds ago.  
  
    Oh no. Oh _shit_. Oh _boy._  
     
    "Benjamin Humbert Richelieu, you get over here right now!"  
  
    _There_ he was! Whew! He must have missed him. Al searched for Sam once again in the crowd.  
  
    "Don't you make me repeat myself," someone ordered sternly. Sam was still nowhere. Al turned halfway around and spotted an African American woman in a floral dress, who stood next to a car with her hands on her hips. She was giving him a look that could melt steel. He remembered his ex-wives throwing that same look in his direction.  
  
    Al glanced around him just to be sure. "Who, me?"  
  
    "No, your _sosie_ behind you. Get your backside over here!" The woman pointed her finger sharply to the ground.  
  
    Al hadn't been ordered around like that in a long time, but he knew when someone meant business. He made a hurry-scurry dash to her side. "Yes?" She surprised him with a purse-whack across the shoulder. "Ow!"  
  
    "Don't think I didn't see that," his assailant chastised him, "You been back here for five minutes and you're already gettin' into trouble. You know your father has a reputation to uphold, and he'd be none too happy to see you gettin' up close and personal with those lady friends of yours." She softened her tone a bit near the end, but her expression made her disapproval crystal clear.  
  
    After a moment, Al found his voice again. "Uhhh...I'm sorry?"  
  
    The woman sighed and straightened her dress, evidently not holding this grudge for too long. "I don't know what I expected. You been causin' grief since I was changin' your diapers." She let out an exasperated laugh. "Where's your things?"  
  
    Al was briefly silent as he tried to wrap his head around a woman nearly his age talking about changing his diapers. Suddenly on the spot again as he realized she'd asked him something, he took another uncertain look around him. "Uh, well, I, uh...I must've forgotten them."  
  
    The woman's eyes widened. " _Forgotten_ them? Sometimes I don't know where your head's at, child." Throwing out her hands and sighing, she opened the car door for him. "I can get 'em from the bus station tomorrow. Let's not wait around here any longer; I got dinner on the stove." Al stared at the car door, still in a daze, and she waved for him to move. "Get goin'!"  
  
    Jumping into action, Al ducked inside the back of the car. Once she'd shut the door for him, the woman got in front and began to presumably drive him home. To Benjamin's home. And, oh yeah, he was now Benjamin. This smelled of something Hinky with a capital H.  
  
    At this point, he knew what leaping felt like, and this was no normal leap. For one thing, there was no lightning. If he'd been struck by lightning, he would've noticed, and that had definitely not happened. Of course, it was possible he'd swiss-cheesed it and pulled a switcharoo with Sam again...but then wouldn't Sam be here as the Observer? This didn't seem the same. He hadn't felt all blue and tingly and lighter than air or any of that crap. He'd simply been a hologram one moment, and then next thing he knew, he was getting five across the eyes. And, to add insult to injury, he thought that had been one of his cleaner come-ons.  
  
    Where the hell was Sam?  
  
\-------  
  
    The Richelieu family lived on a former plantation, but it didn't look like it had been used for that for quite some time. Not that it wasn't well-kept, because the yard was clean and the paint looked fresh. As Al stepped inside the spacious house and took in the expensive decor, he felt woefully sloppy and under-dressed.  
  
    His driver left him for the kitchen and he spotted a mirror on the wall. Benjamin looked back at him, just as hot and befuddled as he was. He stepped forward to get a closer look. Ben had a long face and a prominent chin, a superhero chin, and one of his strong brows was broken by a scar. Al bet there was an interesting story behind that. A pile of black curls set messily on top of his head, and he tried to smooth it out a little to make himself presentable.  
  
    "Ben!" Before Al could react, a teenage girl was wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He spit a mass of curly black hair out of his mouth and awkwardly returned the hug. "I'm so glad to see you again! It hasn't been the same around here without my big brother."  
  
    _Thanks for the clue_ , Al thought genuinely to Whoever was listening. This must be Florette. They pulled apart and he smiled. "It's, uh, it's good to be back."  
  
    Florette frowned when she saw his missing buttons and noticed the lipstick on his collar. "What happened to you? Were you at that bar?" Al fumbled for an explanation, but she cut him off. "Dad's gonna wring your neck if he finds out you've been gambling again." But then she grinned. "...you win anything?"  
  
    "Uh, no, I didn't." Al was sure Sam hadn't been gambling in there, and he was pretty certain Ben often found himself with empty pockets.  
  
    "That's too bad," Florette told him sympathetically, "Hey, you'd better clean up before dinner, so Dad doesn't know where you've been. I'm sure Louise will keep it between us three like usual." She gave a wink and pushed him toward the staircase. "Oh, and Ben?"  
  
    "Heh?"  
  
    "I really did miss you."  
  
    One look at her heartfelt smile, and Al felt an unforeseen tug on his heartstrings. A long, long time ago, he used to hear things exactly like that, and he could picture now his sister Trudy's big, toothy grin. He smiled warmly back. "I missed you too."  
  
\-------  
  
    Somehow, Al had managed to find Ben's bedroom, but it had taken a search and a half to get there. How did Sam do it every leap? Even the simple things were a pain in the butt.  
  
    While he buttoned up a fresh shirt, he took a look around Ben's room. God, why did it have to be the 50s? The most conformist, oppressive decade he could think of. Yuckola! And while Ben seemed far from conformist, he was also now at the mercy of a father who was all about conformity. And that meant, so was Al. He wasn't sure how to take being a teenager again. A sixty-something-year-old man did not need to be lectured by parents, follow a curfew, or, ugh, get _grounded_. Then again, when _he_ was 18, that was his plebe year at Annapolis, so this should be a breeze in comparison.  
  
    Hey, _there_ was a thought...technically, he was 18 again, and still at the height of his sexual prowess. Not that he'd ever had a problem with the pants-off dance-off, no matter what his fifth...no, fourth wife said. This opened up some interesting possibilities. Maybe there was an upside to this leap after all! Because unlike Sam, Al had no problem doing the horizontal tango with a total stranger. Safely, of course. Let's not be irresponsible.  
  
    Al took off his trousers and opened the dresser. Hidden underneath the fresh pair of shorts he was grabbing, he found a small tin can, which he opened curiously. Bingo! Weed. Cocking his eyebrow and considering it thoughtfully, he closed the lid and shoved it back under the shorts. Maybe he'd save that for later.  
  
    _Clunk-shoom!_ "Nice legs, Al."  
  
    The sudden interruption nearly made Al jump out of his skin, but he was relieved to hear the Imaging Chamber door. He exhaled deeply as he turned around. "You scared the bejeezus outta me! It's about time you showed--" He jarred to a halt. He wasn't sure who he was expecting to see, but it sure as shiza wasn't who he had his eyeballs on. "Alia?!"  
  
    There she was, sitting in a wheelchair and humorously observing his half-naked body. With a sudden onset of self-consciousness, Al coughed and rapidly began to struggle with a pair of pants.  
  
    "I know, I know, 'where the hell have I been?'" Alia provided for him, reaching into her lavender leather jacket and pulling out something like a handlink. Al's eyes nearly popped out of his skull as he saw the gadget in her hand, and he tripped on a pant leg and fell to the floor. Alia chuckled. "Relax, Al. It's not like I haven't seen more of you."  
  
    This was too weird. Al pulled up his pants before scrambling to his feet. "Alia, what the hell are you doin' here?" He wondered about the wheelchair too, but he had more pressing questions on his mind.  
  
    She rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry I'm late. I got here as soon as I could, but there was some hang-up at the Project."  
  
    "The Project? Since when are you part of the Project?" Al was totally lost. He eyed the strange handlink in her palm, a sleek, thinner version of the pile of gummi bears he was used to. No, that couldn't be right. Maybe she'd leaped here too. He had to be sure. He reached out toward her, but sure enough, his hand passed through her like air. "What the hell is goin' on?!" His hand flew to his forehead. He wished someone would clue him in as to what was happening!  
  
    Alia became very disturbed when Al ran his hand through her, and she tensed up in her chair. She began to press buttons on the sleek new handlink. "I'm going to contact the Project. You seem more swiss-cheesed than usual."  
  
    "Project--" Al suddenly gasped and shot an accusatory finger at her. "Oh, you mean the _other_ Project! You're back with them, I knew it! Aha!" He nodded knowingly. The Project ran by the evil leapers, with Zoey and Thames and god knows who else. They wouldn't get the best of him! But quickly he ran into a roadblock with his theory. "Er--How is it I can see you?"  
  
    Alia paused, blinked, and then forced herself to remain calm. Folding her hands across her lap, she leaned toward him to gently explain. "Listen up. Your name is Albert Calavicci, and you're part of a time travel experiment that, in your words, 'went a little caca.'" She wobbled her hand. "I'm a hologram tuned into your brainwaves from the future, and only you can see or hear me. Any of this sounding familiar to you?"  
  
    "Who with the what and the where?!" Al exclaimed, grasping his head again, "No no, this is all wrong! _I'm_ supposed to be over there, not you!"  
  
    "Let me see if I understand," Alia said, her brows furrowed thoughtfully, "You remember the experiment, but you don't remember leaping?"  
  
    Al shook his head. "No, _I'm_ the Observer, and you're--you're not part of this! And where the hell is Sam?!"  
  
    "Sam who?"  
  
    "What do you mean, Sam who? Sam Beckett!"  
  
    Alia went rigid for a moment. Just as quickly, she masked her alarm and lifted up the weird handlink again. "I have to consult Ziggy. I'll be back as soon as I can." The handlink chirped at her as she punched in a sequence and opened the Chamber door. "Don't worry, Al," she said with a promise, "We'll figure this out."  
  
    _Clunk-shoom_. Back into the powder room she went.  
  
    A knock on the door. Louise peeked her head in. "Dinner is ready...if you're presentable." She smirked as her eyes moved downward, and Al quickly zipped up his fly.  
  
\-------  
  
    Well, this was a barrel of fun. After a two-sentence exchange with his new father, Al had sat down for the most awkward family dinner he could ever remember having. Then again, he hadn't had many family dinners as a child anyway. While the silence made for an icy meal, it gave him time to try and process everything that had just happened.  
  
    Al felt he knew even less now than he did before, but here's what he knew for sure. Somehow, he was the leaper, and now he was stuck as a teenager in 1950s New Orleans. And for some reason, Alia was his Observer. That's where things got muddled. Last time he saw Alia, it had been at that women's prison when Sam had rescued her from the evil leapers. She had leaped out to an unknown destination, but wherever she was, she was free, and that was the last Al ever thought he would see of her. And although he had been there, he was only tuned in to Sam's brainwaves, so Alia had never set eyes on him, and yet here she knew exactly who he was. So how did she end up at the Project and he end up in 1957?  
  
    Because...because he had been collecting unemployment in New Mexico after those nozzles at Star Bright had washed him out of the project. That's when Alia contacted him out of the blue to be part of something called Leap for the Future, out in Massachusetts. He had nothing to lose and alimony from six marriages to pay, so he figured why not? No one was hiring him after getting kicked out of the Navy anyway.  
  
    Carumba! Al straightened up in shock. How did he remember that? New memories were beginning to swirl around his head, which meant that somehow, something had gone majorly screwy with the timeline. Now things were starting to make a little more sense! But what in the world had Sam done to alter history so drastically? He'd barely had time to do anything on this leap! Whatever it was, things had taken a turn toward Yikesville.  
  
    Fortunately, Al's connection to Ziggy meant that he could remember all of the timelines. Did he still have that connection in this altered history though? Evidently so, since he seemed to be the only one who could remember what had happened before. The new history was a little hazier, however, maybe because of the swiss-cheese leap effect. Maybe it was still changing. Whatever the case was, he had to get things back to normal, and quick.  
  
    Right. So how the hell was he gonna do that?


	2. Chapter 2

    As Al walked down the street the next day, he knew he had good news and bad news. The good news was, he'd figured out that the timeline had somehow been changed and he was not, in fact, losing his marbles. Unfortunately, it was all bad news from there. He had precisely nada, zip, zero, zilch on what had triggered this change, and he couldn't do much to fix it until he had more information. Which was difficult to get when he was the only one who remembered the previous timeline. But maybe he could use his noggin and detective some of this out. It's not like this was his first rodeo, after all, he was in the professional time-travel business!  
  
    Whatever had happened, it occurred after Sam had leaped in here, so maybe, if Al solved this leap, things would go back to normal. It was as solid a theory as any. So that was his mission now. Wait for Alia to show up with more information, and go about this like a normal leap. At least, until he had something else to go on.  
  
    Zooks, it was hot out here. Al pulled at Ben's shirt to try and fan himself off and addressed the clouds. "You couldn't have dropped me into Vegas or somethin'?"  
  
    Leaning against a building nearby, a burly man in a tank top looked up from his cigarette. Al tried to cover up his gaffe with a smile and a wave. The man simply looked away and blew out a stream of smoke. Yipes, talk about entering the freezer section.  
  
    "We've been over this, Geoffrey! I'm not gonna argue about it any more!"  
  
    "You didn't even give it any consideration!"  
  
    "You're making a scene, okay? I'll talk to you later."  
  
    Al looked for the source of the shouting match, landing on Florette and (apparently) Geoffrey a short ways ahead of him. Geoffrey was probably in his mid-twenties, impossibly tall, and with a brick for a face. As Florette tried to leave, he clasped one of his meaty paws around her arm.  
  
    "I wasn't finished talking to you!"  
  
    Faster than a speeding bullet, Al was next to them and grabbing one of those tree trunks Geoffrey called an arm. "I think you're done," he quietly stated, his eyes narrowed. He didn't need to raise his voice to get the point across.  
  
    Benjamin was not an imposing figure, and Geoffrey outweighed either him or Al, but something about Al's authoritative presence commanded respect. The towering young man let go of Florette's arm, and Al did the same for him.  
  
    "I'll see you later, Florette." Florette nodded in acknowledgement, and he walked away. She brushed her hair behind her ear and glanced self-consciously at the onlookers on the street. The smoking man leaning against the building smirked in amusement before retreating inside. However, Al wasn't worried about making a scene.  
  
    "Are you okay?"  
  
    "You didn't have to embarrass me like that."  
  
    "And he shouldn't be grabbing you like that," Al said protectively, eyeing her arm for bruises. He checked behind them to make sure Geoffrey was still out of sight.  
  
    "He was just getting my attention, Ben," Florette explained, rolling her eyes, "He wouldn't hurt me. He loves me."  
  
    Al's eyes widened. "What? Don't tell me that Frankenstein is your _boyfriend_!"  
  
    "Yes, he is," Florette answered coldly, folding her arms, "and you'd know that if you'd stuck around here instead of running away from your family." She stuck her nose up, and Al went silent. He was surprised that her comment actually stung him, despite it being directed toward Ben. But Florette quickly looked regretful. "Oh, I'm sorry, Ben. I didn't mean that."  
  
    "It's okay," Al dismissed, "I just worry about you. I don't want you to get hurt."  
  
    "He's _never_ hurt me," Florette assured him, "God's truth. We were just having a stupid argument. Don't worry about it."  
  
    Al wasn't entirely convinced, but he didn't want to push things with his new sister. He would definitely keep an eye on that weasel, though. "Okay. But if that knuckle-nose ever _did_ try anything, you come to me, you hear me?"  
  
    "Of course," Florette answered as if it were obvious, "You're my big brother." She smiled, then shook her head. "'Knuckle-nose,' is that something you picked up on the road?"  
  
    "Uh, yeah." Al bobbed his head and chuckled. "I picked it up from a guy named Calavicci."  
  
    Florette's grin widened and she took his hands in both of hers affectionately. "You're gonna have to tell me some stories about your trip. Later, when I don't have somewhere to be." She squeezed his hands and backed away. "See you at home?"  
  
    "Oh, sure."  
  
    Florette made her leave, and Al considered his encounter with the Not-So-Incredible Hulk. Boy, this really got him steamed. Whether he'd physically hurt her or not, Florette shouldn't be dating a guy like that. And, well, she was _his_ responsibility, after all. What are big brothers for if not protecting their little sisters?  
  
    Al really hoped that was the reason for the leap. Because then he'd get to introduce knuckle-nose to a knuckle sandwich.  
  
    "Al?" Just the person he wanted to hear. Alia was sitting to his left. "Can we talk?" she asked carefully.  
  
    "I think we've got a lot to talk about," Al answered. He noticed a few onlookers from the fight were still straggling behind. "Er--Let's hit the head, huh?"  
  
\-------  
  
    The _men's room_ again. Gross-ola! It felt weird initiating the meeting from the other side, a part of the story he would _not_ be telling Sam once the timeline got fixed.  
  
    "Alia--"  
  
    "Al--"  
  
    Al cleared his throat and bowed out. "You go first."  
  
    "Alright," Alia started, folding her hands together, "According to Ziggy, there's been a major shift in the timeline. He said you should know what I'm talking about."  
  
    "I have an idea now, yeah," Al answered, scratching at his ear and looking at the floor, "And this is gonna be hard to explain, but, uh..."  
  
    "You remember all the timelines."  
  
    Al's head shot up. "Huh? How'd you know?"  
  
    Alia smirked knowingly and tapped her temple. "I'm the Project Observer. I remember the timelines too. What I can't figure out is why I don't remember the timeline you're talking about."  
  
    "Because you weren't connected to Ziggy in that timeline!" Al deduced, "I was connected in both histories." It was an immense relief to see that Alia understood, because that made things a whole lot easier. He rubbed the side of his face. "Listen, I'm sorry about before. I, uh, didn't remember then, but some of it's comin' to me now."  
  
    Alia nodded in understanding. "It must have been some change, the way you were freaking out. I thought it was Havenwell all over again!"  
  
    Havenwell? Al shuddered as he remembered Sam's frightening leap into an asylum. Or was it _his_ leap now? Thankfully, he didn't recall that version of events. "I'm still a little swiss-cheesed, uh, so you might have to fill in the blanks for me on some things, um...like, what's with the wheels?" He gestured toward her chair. Alia went quiet and shifted her eyes to her lap, and Al immediately smacked a hand over his eyes. There he was putting his foot in his mouth again! "Aw jeez, I'm sorry. I shouldn't've asked."  
  
    "No, it's alright. It was an accident a long time ago." Alia brushed some nonexistent dirt from her pants, inhaled deeply, then lifted her head with a professional air about her. "Why don't we start with what you remember from this original history? Then we can try and figure out what happened to the timeline."  
  
    Al began to walk back and forth from sink to stall. "Well, where do I start...?" He wiped his nose. "Oh, okay. Uh, like I said before, in my timeline, I'm the Observer for the project--"  
  
    "Leap for the Future?"  
  
    "Right," Al confirmed with an acknowledging point in her direction, "only it's called Project Quantum Leap. And the leaper is someone named Sam Beckett, and this was his brainchild. I knew you then too, but we never formally met, me being a hologram and all. Sam met you on a few leaps, and he helped you escape from the evil project that was shooting you through time. I never knew what happened to you after that." Alia stroked her chin thoughtfully and chewed on her lip. She stayed silent, so Al had to prompt her. "Your turn."  
  
    "Oh," Alia breathed, as if she'd been knocked from her thoughts. Her hand fell into her lap, where she fidgeted with the handlink for a moment. She slipped it back into her pocket to resist temptation. "Well, I run the Project here. I..." She took a deep breath. "I started it with the knowledge I took from...that other place, after I got away. I wanted to put right what once went wrong...to make sure no one had to suffer like I did. To change the past to make now better." She smiled. "Leap--"  
  
    "--for the Future," Al finished happily. He squinted as more new memories came back to him. "And I was the first test. Only something went wrong with the retrieval program, and I ended up stuck!" He leaned against the sink and screwed up his mouth. "It's a spooky coincidence though, don't you think? That you ended up creating the exact same project, and I ended up involved with it?"  
  
    "Yeah...It was bizarre," Alia mused, her brows knitted, "When I was looking for leaping candidates, Ziggy picked you out out of nowhere." Al stuck out his lips. Ziggy, you sneaky little devil. Alia chuckled. "Except, he wasn't called Ziggy then, he was called Adam. Ziggy was your nickname."  
  
    "Adam?" Al scoffed, "That's the stupidest name for a computer I ever heard!"  
  
    Alia laughed. "That's what you said the first time." She mused over recollections. "I don't know how Ziggy found you, but you fit the bill. You were more than qualified, and you said you didn't have anything to lose, so you were willing to take on the risks. Of course, we weren't expecting things to go so haywire..."  
  
    Al scratched his neck absentmindedly as he thought things over. It was pretty obvious what was missing from the equation here. "Hey Alia, have Ziggy look up Sam Beckett's history. What's he doing now?"  
  
    Something flickered over Alia's features which Al couldn't quite read, but before he could ask about it she took out the handlink and pressed in a few keys. She pursed her lips and read the screen. "According to the records from Elk Ridge, Indiana...Sam Beckett disappeared after a friend's funeral in 1970. The case was closed in 1974, and he was presumed dead. His body was never found." She looked toward the wall somberly as the handlink chirped.  
  
    "What?" Al asked with alarm, stepping closer to look over her shoulder at the handlink, "That can't be right. How did Sam make himself disappear in Elk Ridge from here in 1957? That doesn't make any sense!" He looked up in bewilderment.  
  
    Alia was distracted by the new information coming up on the handlink. "We've got more urgent problems, Al."  
  
    "I doubt it."  
  
    "There _is_ a reason you leaped here, you know."  
  
    Al glanced over guiltily. "Oh yeah. What is it?"  
  
    "It's your--Ben's sister, Florette," she informed him, which instantly grabbed his attention. She read from the handlink. "Ziggy says there's an 86% chance she's the reason you leaped in here. She's pressured by her boyfriend into having sex for the first time, gets pregnant, and...dies while attempting an abortion at home."  
  
    "Oh no," Al breathed worriedly, "Not...Florette." He sunk against the sink again, leaning his head against his hand, adrift. "Great. Not only do I have to fix the timeline and save my best friend, but on top of that I need to stop my sister from dying?"  
  
    Alia dropped the handlink into her lap and leaned toward him sympathetically. "I never said it would be easy."  
  
\-------  
  
    Ain't this a kick in the butt? Al kicked a can down the puddle-streaked street and thought over what he was gonna do. What had happened to Sam in 1970? Al refused to believe he was dead, but he supposed it wouldn't matter once things went back to normal. Would solving this leap change things back? It hardly seemed like Florette's future peril coincided with Sam's life in any way. Then again, the butterfly effect could've been in full swing here, one small change led to big, fat, unforeseen consequences later on down the line. But what did Sam do, exactly? He and Al were just having a conversation when things flipped downside up. This was a real brain-scratcher.  
  
    He remembered parts of his life in this new timeline. He hadn't exactly been...the most professional on the job, showing up drunk or not at all. But Alia had been very forgiving, and they'd even become friends. She forgave him because she'd had her own battle with addiction, but she never went into great detail about her past when she talked about it. Until today, he hadn't known anything about the evil leapers. All he knew was Alia had suffered through something traumatic, and that's why she wanted to help people.  
  
    Al felt a twinge of regret when he realized he would miss her once the timeline was fixed. Damn. He hated remembering everything sometimes.  
  
    Then there was Florette. Sweet little Florette. He had to stop that living boil of a boyfriend from pressuring her into doing the bingo bango bongo. Al almost laughed at the irony of it falling on his shoulders to convince someone _not_ to have sex. Almost. If it wasn't for the fact that him failing meant her kicking the bucket later on down the line.  
  
    If he could accomplish all of this without melting into a puddle of goo, that would be a miracle. Even after the recent rainfall, it was stiflingly warm. The sky was dark and hot and the humidity threatened to swallow him up like a hungry alligator. He needed to get inside somewhere before his brain sizzled away. That store would do.  
  
\-------  
  
    The cool, wet bottle of Coca Cola felt like heaven in Al's grip, and he took a generous swig of the sparkling brown liquid inside. Ahh, that took him back. It was made with real sugar, not with that corn syrup crud they put in soda nowadays, gunking up people's bodies. Ick.  
  
    He stepped further inside the store and began to peruse the shelves curiously, coming upon a selection of children's toys. He was amused when he saw an old box labeled "Chemcraft Master Deluxe Lab." Personally, he hadn't gotten into that kind of nerd stuff, he had been more into plastic army men ( _Sorry, boys_ , he mentally apologized to his Navy buddies), but he bet dollars to donuts Sam had played with more than a few of these sets. Including the frighteningly radioactive ones. Yikes, 1950s.  
  
    But by 1957, Al had long since stopped playing with children's toys. He was, uh, more interested in toys for grownups. Idly, he wondered if this store had any "adult reading" behind the counter, so he ambled his way toward the front.  
  
    What he found was the burly smoking man from before, helping himself to the money in the register.  
  
    "Hey!" Al shouted. The startled man looked up in surprise. Hurriedly, he grabbed another handful of bills and tried to make a break for it, but Al shot toward him. He wasn't gonna let this nozzle get away with robbing this place! He'd caught up to him within two seconds, snatched his arm, and pulled him to a stop. The money dropped to the floor.  
  
    All of a sudden, there were sparks. Electricity shot through both men, and Al felt a prickly, static sensation run across his skin as the man before him began to change shape. And as this transformation took place, Al couldn't believe what he was seeing. Where there once stood the muscular smoking man, now a more familiar face stared back at him in confusion.  
  
    It was Sam.  
  
    "Sam?" Al gasped.  
  
    His friend frowned. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
    "It's me, Al!" Al tried to explain, baffled. A door opened from the back of the store and they turned to see the owner coming back in.  
  
    "What's going on here?" the man questioned as he eyed the bills crumpled on the floor. Sam's arm was still clasped in a befuddled Al's grip.  
  
    "Sa--" Al found himself forcibly cut off when Sam shoved him hard into the shelf, and next thing he knew he was lying on top of it. Sam made a break for the door. "Hey! Wait!" Al called out to him, but it was taking too long to extricate himself from the mess on the floor. The store owner rushed over to help him up. Throwing out a rushed thank you, he bolted into the street to try and catch his friend. "Sam! SAM!"  
  
    Sam was nowhere in sight. Al sighed in disappointment and leaned on his knees.  
  
    "Oh boy," he blew out. That's when a mutant claw of a hand clamped onto his shoulder and twisted him around.  
  
    "Hey, nosebleed!" Geoffrey shouted angrily, causing Al to roll his eyes. Oh brother. "Thanks to you, I got into a fight with Florette. Why don't you mind your own business?"  
  
    "She's my sister," Al shot back, hot and impatient, "That makes it my business." He leaned to the side to try and spot Sam in the crowd.  
  
    "Where did he go?" It was the store owner, who had just joined him outside.  
  
    "You burned rubber out of here as soon as you graduated, what do you care?" Geoffrey didn't so much as look at the other man.  
  
    Al ground his teeth. He was in no mood to deal with this zit. "I think the real question here is, what does a guy your age want with a 15-year-old girl? Let me guess, you like her for her mind?" He squinted a suspicious eye at him.  
  
    Meatface chuckled and sneered. "You'll understand when you're older, kid."  
  
    Puh. If only he knew. Al puffed up his chest and took a step closer. "Oh, I get the picture. And lemme tell you somethin', you better make sure you get your ugly mug outta my sister's life, _posthaste_."  
  
    The Jolly Green Giant heaved all of his bulk toward Al, clenching his jaw. It wasn't entirely clear if he knew what 'posthaste' meant, but he got the gist. "Or what?" he whispered threateningly.  
  
    "Or you'll be eating your _teeth_ for _lunch_." Al bounced on his heels to emphasize the key words.  
  
    At first, Geoffrey stood nonplussed at Al's lack of intimidation. It was evident he was used to bullying people to get what he wanted, and this was not how he pictured this confrontation going. Trying to save face, he nodded and lifted his fists. "Okay then. Let's boogie."  
  
    "Please," the store owner begged, "not in front of my store." He remained firmly ignored by both parties.  
  
    "Oh gimme a break..." Al said with annoyance. He didn't expect him to take him up on his offer _now_. But the walking refrigerator seemed hellbent on a fight, so that's what Al would give him.  
  
    What Al lacked in size, he more than made up for with experience. He knew he could wipe the floor with this punk. But in this case, being small was to his advantage. As the guy charged toward him like a raging bull, he simply had to duck out of the way. As the ogre lost his balance, he began to flap his arms to stay upright. Not one to waste a perfectly good opportunity, Al lifted his foot and gave him a swift kick in the can. The monster splooshed to the ground and ended up soaking his head in a rain puddle.  
  
    Al casually sauntered over and bent down to face him cockily. "Looks like you're all wet, chunkhead."  
  
    Geoffrey was bright red. He pulled himself up and angrily wiped off his face, his eyes darting to the amused onlookers and the horrified store owner. "This isn't over," he said, and he jabbed a finger at Al, "Not by a long shot!" And he took off down the street.  
  
    "Yeah yeah." Al waved him off. "Why don't you go suck an egg?" He'd deal with him later. Right now, he had to find Sam. He took off into the crowd.  
  
    "Wait!" the store owner called to him fleetingly. He hung his head in defeat.  
  
    _Clunk-shoom!_  
  
    A panicked Alia shot straight toward Al from the Imaging Chamber, wheeling right through the people on the street. "Al! What the hell did you do? Ziggy's blowing circuits left and right!" She huffed as she tried to keep up with him while he searched. "Al, are you listening to me? Helloooo? Are we coming in clear?"  
  
    Al jerked to a stop, but his attention remained focused on the street. "I'm listening."  
  
    Alia followed Al's eye-line questioningly, but she continued. "Ziggy says Florette's chances of dying went down, but history suddenly went bananas!" She ran her fingers nervously through her hair. "Now nothing is solid. Whatever you did, you messed things up, big time."  
  
    "It's gotta be because Sam is here..." Al mused out loud.  
  
    Alia's head whipped abruptly toward him. "What?"  
  
    "I saw Sam!" Al exclaimed, at last giving Alia his full attention, "He's still a leaper! Only, he didn't seem to remember me..." He frowned and shook his head. "But he's here! And, uh, and I lost him, but maybe you can center on him, or, uh--"  
  
    "No, Al," Alia interrupted urgently, "You listen to me. You stay away from him. Don't try to find him."  
  
    "What're you talkin' about?" Al inquired, perplexed.  
  
    "I mean it," Alia ordered, "Just lay low, and we'll figure out how to get you out of here." She had already begun to furiously punch buttons on the handlink.  
  
    "Get me out of here?" Al repeated in puzzlement, "Why?"  
  
    "Because he's dangerous, that's why!"  
  
    Narrowing his eyes, Al shifted his weight to his other foot, slanted his mouth, and lowered his chin. "I thought you didn't know anything about Sam. What aren't you telling me, Alia?"  
  
    "That doesn't matter. What matters is getting you out of here." Alia smacked the handlink and it squealed. "Stupid thing...Oh, don't you start, Ziggy!"  
  
    Al closed one eye in suspicion. "Something doesn't gel here. Tell me why you're so keen on me leaving all of a sudden."  
  
    Alia hit the handlink again, glanced up, and saw Al's stubborn expression. His heels were dug into the ground on this one. She relented and sighed. "Because if Sam's here, that means something bad is going to happen."  
  
    "Why's that?"  
  
    "Because..." She lowered her head timidly. "Because he's coming from the place I escaped."  
  
    "The evil Project?!" Al responded in a pitch higher than he would've liked. This was far worse than he'd thought! "Oh god. You think they followed him here when he got out?"  
  
    "No, Al," Alia said, shaking her head, "He didn't run away. He works for them."


	3. Chapter 3

    "Shit!"  
  
    After Sam slammed the door shut, he leaned against it, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. The occupant next door knocked on the wall in annoyance, and he hit the wall even harder. No, this definitely wasn't working. He wasn't feeling any less infuriated. Crossing the room, he slumped into the chair next to the hotel's ugly green table and swore again under his breath. A perfectly good robbery, wasted! At this rate, he'd be stuck as Ernest Rey forever! There was no doubt about it. He was having one bitch of a day.  
  
    He'd been leaped in here with a simple job, right? Get this loser back into a life of crime. It was shit, small-time work and he knew it, and the Project couldn't even trust him to do that? So they'd sent in some other leaper to check on him. He didn't know why they bothered. He knew better after that incident in 1962.  
  
    "Oh, Samuel, do dress like that more often..." It was Zoey. She ran her hands down her sequined green jacket as she eyed his bare arms appreciatively. He was in no mood. Not that he ever was.  
  
    "Zoey..." he growled warningly.  
  
    She raised an eyebrow. "Tetchy today, are we?"  
  
    Sam sat up straighter and glared. "Don't play games with me," he said as he stood up and opened the closet. He hastily threw on a shirt over his tank top. "I've done exactly what I was supposed to do since I arrived here, and somehow that isn't enough. I swear, you guys haven't stopped nagging me since Sedona!"  
  
    Zoey was quickly losing her flirtatious good humor. She ran her hands over Lothos's handlink and pretended to be disinterested. "Samuel, darling, whatever are you blabbering about?"  
  
    "That guy you sent to spy on me! Is he new? Because he really screwed things up." Sam stopped, rubbed the back of his neck, and licked his lips. "This one's on you, not me. You tell Lothos that."  
  
    "New guy? What new guy?" Zoey inquired in bewilderment.  
  
    Sam stopped. "That leaper in the store. He was one of ours, wasn't he?"  
  
    "There was another leaper?" Zoey stepped closer with alarm. "No, it wasn't one of ours. What did he look like?"  
  
    This was an unexpected turn of events. Sam's temper turned to puzzled curiosity. If he wasn't one of theirs, who was he? And how did he know his name? No one knew who he was anymore.  
  
    "Samuel," the Observer called impatiently.  
  
    "I dunno, he, uh, he was an old guy. Curly brown hair, kinda gray on the sides...he said his name was Al. He knew who I was."  
  
    As soon as Zoey heard the name, she quirked an eyebrow and lowered her eyes in thought. "Interesting..."  
  
    "You mind filling me in?"  
  
    She looked up at an expectant Sam, who cocked his head and waited for an answer. Slowly grabbing the lapels of her jacket and straightening herself out, she chose her words carefully as she circled him. "His name is... Captain Albert Calavicci, former. He's an old enemy of the Project. Truthfully, we weren't expecting to ever encounter him again. Somehow, he's figured out how to leap."  
  
    "But who is he? How did he know me?"  
  
    "Like I said, he's an old enemy. He's likely done research on you."  
  
    "How?" Sam asked skeptically, "As far as anyone's concerned, I died in 1970."  
  
    "That's what you're going to find out, Samuel." Zoey came to a halt behind him. "Go to him, find out what he knows. Report back to me."  
  
    "Not until I know more about this guy. He could try to kill me."  
  
    Slowly, Zoey glided back around to face him. "You'll know what we choose to tell you," she calmly threatened, "Or we _will_ send in another leaper again to finish the job. Understood?" Sam shut his mouth and ducked his head obediently. A subtle grin emerged on Zoey's lips. "Excellent. Now go find the captain."  
  
\-------  
  
    Al burst into laughter. Not just some little chuckle, but a good, old fashioned guffaw. "That's a good one, Alia," he said when he'd caught his breath, "Sam is working for the evil leapers? Ha! It still gets me."  
  
    "It's not funny, Al." Alia tightened her mouth.  
  
    Al's laughter died down, but he was still tickled. "You're yankin' my chain. We are talking about Sam Beckett, right?"  
  
    "Yes," Alia responded, aggravated, "and I'd appreciate it if you took this seriously."  
  
    "How am I supposed to believe anything you say?" asked Al flippantly, arms outstretched, "You lied to me about not knowing who Sam was."  
  
    "I didn't lie," Alia responded defensively. She fidgeted with the handlink. "I simply... neglected to mention certain information."  
  
    "Same diff! Oh, you didn't think it was important to tell me that my best friend was working for the enemy now?" Al laughed and twirled around. No way was she for real.  
  
    "I didn't think it would come up! I left all of that behind a long time ago!" Alia's face flushed red, her attention suddenly focused on her hands in her lap. "I don't...I don't like to talk about that place. Or anyone in it. And that includes Sam."  
  
    Al's know-it-all smirk slowly disappeared. He didn't want to believe it, but he knew when Alia was telling the truth. The fear was etched on her face as unwanted memories came back unbidden. "You're serious."  
  
    "I wouldn't joke about them."  
  
    "They took him, didn't they? When he disappeared? That's what changed in the timeline." Alia nodded affirmatively, and Al was decided. "Then he needs our help."  
  
    Now it was Alia's turn to laugh, minus any of the humor. "Sam doesn't want anyone's help."  
  
    "He would never willingly work for those slimeballs! He just needs someone to bust him outta there."  
  
    "This is not the Sam from your timeline, Al! You have to trust me on this." Alia got closer and made sure he was meeting her gaze. Warningly, she said, "If you try to stop him from whatever it is he was sent here to do...he'll kill you."  
  
    "No," Al denied vehemently, fervently shaking his head, "No, not Sam."  
  
    "I was there with him for a very long time, Al. I know him." Alia's mouth was a hard line again and her brows twisted in hate.  
  
    "Whatever he's done, he was forced to do it, just like you!" Al insisted with a pointed look, angrier than he'd intended. He let go of some of his heat before continuing. "Sam needs our help. He did the same thing for you once."  
  
    Alia swallowed tightly and stayed quiet for a moment, looking down at her hands again. She regained her composure before lifting her head. "Let's hope you're right about him." She took out the handlink and opened up the Imaging Chamber. "I'll see if Ziggy can get a clearer reading on this leap. Be careful." The door clunked shut.  
  
    "You always talk to yourself, baby?" A pair of arms snaked around his shoulders, and a redheaded knock-out in a cherry-colored dress felt her way toward his front.  
  
    "I, uh--" Al caught one look at her and her ample hooters and melted into a stupid grin. "Only when I'm lookin' for company..."  
  
    "It's been a long time, Ben," she cooed, running her hands over his chest, "I know we only had the one night, but I've never forgotten it... What do you say we park somewhere and play some backseat bingo?"  
  
    Ohhhh time could be such a tease. Al could hardly believe he was even thinking it, but...he couldn't accept the offer. This girl was still a teenager, and he felt...well, uh....kind of skeevy. Now, he had no qualms with doin' the dirty with a younger woman, but he was no cradle snatcher either. Dare he say it, he felt like a dirty old man. Besides, he had other responsibilities that took precedence over pleasure.  
  
    "It's tempting," he said, gently pushing her away, "but I can't. I've got some business to take care of."  
  
    "That's too bad." The girl pouted as she backed away. "If that business ever finishes up, you know where to find me." With a wink, she disappeared down the street.  
  
    Ben was one lucky dog. "Oh boy," Al sighed as he watched her go. He rubbed the side of his face. "Now I just gotta figure out this Sam situation."  
  
    "How about we start with a game of pool?" Al turned left in surprise. Sam was leaning against a porch beam and grinning at him.  
  
\-------  
  
    Al was of two minds at the moment, and it was emotional whiplash to say the least. On the one hand, he was elated to see his best friend again, and happy that he had been the one to contact him first. On the other hand, their first encounter hadn't exactly been chummy. It left Al uneasy and unsure how to interact with this new Sam, even if he was a whole lot friendlier now than he was before. The way he carried himself was different, even if the face he was wearing was familiar.  
  
    With "Down in Mexico" filling the room from the bar's speakers, Sam racked the balls on the table and glanced up at Al. He spoke through the cigarette in his mouth. "Are you breaking, or am I?"  
  
    Al stared for a moment. He wasn't used to seeing Sam smoking, especially since he'd gotten on his case on more occasions than he could count about his cigars. It was almost a funny sight. Sam raised his eyebrows as he waited for a response. "Oh! Uh, you break."  
  
    "You got it." Sam removed the rack, confidently aimed his cue, and smoothly broke in the game. A solid slid into one of the pockets, and Al found himself staring again. The last time he'd seen Sam play pool, he'd had to coach the hell outta him and set him up with a Ziggy cheat code just to complete the leap. Evidently, Sam had had more practice this time around. He showed none of his previous insecurities. He sauntered around the table to find a good point for his next shot. "So, _Al_ ," Sam said as he leaned over and positioned his cue, "You seem to know who I am, but I don't know anything about you." In one swift move, another solid slid into the pocket to Al's left.  
  
    "I was afraid of that.." Al murmured in disappointment. This would make things a lot more difficult. And if Sam didn't remember him, he had a pretty good idea what had caused his sudden change of attitude. He'd have to be careful. "Listen, uh, Sam... are they watchin' right now?"  
  
    "Who?"  
  
    "Zoey or Thames or whoever they got Observing this time."  
  
    In guarded amusement, Sam straightened up and leaned against his pool stick. "You cut right to the chase, don't you?"  
  
    "This is important. Are they listening?"  
  
    "Your turn."  
  
    "Huh?" Sam motioned to the table to indicate he'd scratched. Al squinted in thought and his jaw slid to the side. If he was going to get Sam to talk, he was going to have to play the game. So he retrieved the cue ball and got into position. Baby steps. He'd start with first things first. He cleared his throat. "My name is Al Calavicci. And I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but I'm your best friend."  
  
    Sam's lip slowly curled up as he blew out a stream of smoke. Out of all the approaches he'd expected, this wasn't one of them. "Oh, you are?"  
  
    Al sunk a stripe from a particularly difficult position and smiled proudly to himself. He still had it. He hoped that wherever Black Magic was now, he felt the same pride. He gave his attention back to Sam. "Yeah. I am. But you don't remember me, because those nozzles who took you changed the timeline. So now we never met."  
  
    "Right," Sam said drolly, "but for some reason, you happen to be the only one who remembers?"  
  
    From Sam's perspective, Al could see how that might seem like some grade A bullshit. He sunk another ball and screwed up his mouth nervously. "Well, yes. But that's because of my connection to Ziggy."  
  
    "Who's Ziggy?"  
  
    "Who's--? Oh." Al frowned. "You don't know Ziggy, uh...never mind. Just trust me on this one."  
  
    "That's convenient." The patronizing look stayed firmly in place.  
  
    He was losing him. He'd need to try a different approach. "Well you know they changed the timeline when they took you, right?"  
  
    "Keep playing." A tight-lipped Sam jerked his head toward the table.  
  
    Al sighed and let his hands fall to his sides. "Sam, you gotta throw me a bone here."  
  
    A beat. Sam considered for a moment and decided he agreed. "Okay." He snubbed his cigarette out on the table. "They aren't watching. So why don't you tell me whatever it is you think they shouldn't hear? Between you and me."  
  
    Now was his chance. Al set his cue down on the table and leaned forward seriously. "I can get you out."  
  
    Far from the reaction Al had been expecting, Sam seemed suddenly tickled. "You can get me out?"  
  
    "I'm bein' serious, Sam. I can help you get away from those bozos."  
  
    "Okay. I think I know the game now." Sam set his own cue down and nodded confidently. "You think that you can get buddy-buddy with me and find out about the Project, is that it?"  
  
    "What? No!"  
  
    "Well it's not going to work, pal." Sam began to chuckle. His flippancy was really starting to get on Al's nerves.  
  
    "Sam!" Al yelled sharply, evoking his inner admiral. He stepped around the table and closer to him. "I know you don't want to believe me, but I know you. You created a time travel experiment called Project Quantum Leap, and you brought me on to be your Observer. But things went a little caca, and you ended up stuck in time, putting right what once went wrong. You ever wondered why those scuzzballs chose you? That's why!"  
  
    A beat. Sam chewed his tongue and seemed to be considering what he'd told him. Finally, he tipped his head, said, "That's some story you came up with," and began to walk away.  
  
    "Aw, Sam," Al sighed, his shoulders sinking, "What do I have to say to get you to believe me? Oh! Wait!" He suddenly had an idea. "Tom! You have an older brother named Tom, and he...well, I guess he died in Vietnam."  
  
    Sam turned around and folded his arms. "That's not hard to look up."  
  
    "But would a stranger know that he was the reason you were gonna go to MIT? Or that you only joined the basketball team because you wanted to be just like him?"  
  
    A shrug. "You could've guessed that."  
  
    "Oh yeah? How about this one?" Al strolled closer to him. "When you were 6, you had pneumonia. There was a point where your family thought you weren't gonna make it. And every night, Tom would tell you a story about Ranger the Great Adventurer. Who was he?" He shrugged. "Tom made him up. And he would end every story with a cliffhanger, so you would have to promise to make it to the next day to hear what happened. And he kept doin' that until you were better, and even after because you loved it so much."  
  
    Bingo. That one had done it. Sam's face was slack in disbelief. He unfolded his arms and twisted his eyebrows. "How did you know that?"  
  
    "You told me about it. Sam," Al stepped even closer, "I can help you. Me and Alia, we can--"  
  
    "Ohhh, _Alia_..." Uh-oh. Apparently Al had said the wrong thing, because all of a sudden, things took a sharp turn for the worse. Sam adopted a knowing expression and gave a tight grin as he nodded in irritation. " _Now_ everything is starting to make sense. I wondered what happened to that bitch."  
  
    "Sam!" Al gasped in disappointed shock. He'd never heard Sam talk about a woman like that before.  
  
    "She told you that story about Tom, did she? Oh, you're good!" Sam pointed at him with a twinkle in his eye. "You almost had me going there. So what, does she run a rival project or something now? Are you her little experiment?"  
  
    This was not going the way Al had expected. In fact, he was beginning to think he'd lost both his paddles up shit creek. "No, she didn't tell me anything about that! You gotta listen--"  
  
    "No, you listen," Sam ordered testily, and Al jumped back at his sudden shift in tone, "I don't know what you two want, and I don't care. You stay out of my way, or I'll put you out of my way. You got it?"  
  
    "Sa--"  
  
    "Well well well, if it isn't Benny Richelieu." What _now_? Al was approached by a man in an ugly brown suit with a face only a mother could love. The man put a hand to his hip. "I thought you'd skipped town. You owe me a lotta money, kid."  
  
    "Oh boy," Al muttered under his breath, "Uh, can we discuss this later? I'm kind of in the middle a'--" Before he knew it, a cue stick was swinging toward his head. He dropped out of the way and fell into the pool table. Youch! His back was gonna be paying for that later. He rolled away as the cue came down again and smashed into the table. Great googly moogly! This was far from his first bar fight, but the timing really could've been better.  
  
    "Good luck, kid!" Sam called with a smart-ass wave. He tipped his head and left Al to his fate.  
  
    "Hey! You're just gonna leave me--Gah!" Al dodged another swing, lost his balance, and crashed onto the floor.  
  
\-------  
  
    That was shockingly pathetic. Piss poor. Z grade average if he was being kind. What kind of stunt did Alia think she was pulling? She of all people should know what the outcome would be. Still...Sam hated to admit that he'd almost been reeled in with that Tom story. Almost.  
  
    He ground his teeth when he thought about it. That story was private. She should've kept her damn mouth shut. And whoever this Albert Calavicci really was, he could keep his damn mouth shut about it too.  
  
    He missed Tom. He missed a lot of things.  
  
    "Alright, babe, almost ready!" The blonde in bright red lipstick peeked her head in from the hotel bathroom and flashed him a dazzling, dimpled smile. Sam forced one in return before she ducked back in and turned the shower on.  
  
    Fortunately, Sam had a backup plan. There was more than one way to skin a cat, or ruin a life, and Ernest Rey had many slippery slopes to fall down. So before his trip to the bar, Sam had made a call to Ernest's old girlfriend, Hilda, claiming that she had always been the love of his life. He'd changed this time, really. All he needed was some cash, and they'd blow out of this town together and elope. Only once he got the money, he was outta there. That should be enough to land Ernest in jail for a good long time, where he'd meet lots of old friends. And with old friends come old opportunities. Sam grinned to himself. With any luck, he'd be leaping out soon, and he could forget all about Al Calavicci.  
  
    "You didn't think you could get ridda me that quick, did you?"  
  
    Sam bolted to his feet. There he was again, standing in the doorway! His hair was mussed and half of his shirt hung out of his pants, but he looked vexingly unmarred from his barroom brawl. He did, however, seem a lot less amiable than he had previously been. That gave Sam a small amount of pleasure in what was otherwise an infuriating development.  
  
    "The hell?"  
  
    "Hell is right," Al huffed, "You know how difficult it was to find you again? The _very_ kind." As he stepped inside and shut the door, he squinted one eye and jabbed a finger at him. Sam could almost hear a whoosh from the movement. "Okay, Sam. No more Mr. Nice Guy. You're gonna sit down, and we're gonna have a talk."  
  
    "Would you get your ass out of here?" Sam hissed, trying to keep his voice down. No way was he going to flush this second attempt away.  
  
    "No, I will _not_ get my ass out of here," Al repeated indignantly, "And furthermore--"  
  
    "You should pick up some things before we go!" Hilda called from the shower, "You know, some snacks and stuff for the road? I don't want to get married on an empty stomach! I haven't taken my savings out yet, but there's some money in my purse!"  
  
    "Uh--Sure, honey! I'll do that!" Sam shouted, before focusing back on Al in irritation, "The jig is up, okay? You failed. Now leave me alone!"  
  
    But now Al was distracted by the woman in the shower. He eyeballed her purse on the table suspiciously. "You're scamming this woman, aren't you?" Sam's nostrils flared and Al's eyes widened in realization. "You _are_! Shame on you, Sam!"  
  
    "I don't know what you're talking about." Sam took him by the arm and began to forcibly lead him back to the door.  
  
    "Oho, come on," Al half-laughed, "You're gonna get hitched, and all you need is to help yourself to her life savings? It's one of the oldest tricks in the book!"  
  
    "Is he telling the truth, Ernie?"  
  
    Both men turned to see a soggy and upset woman in a towel. Sam swore under his breath and Al's eyes strayed downward in wonderment.  
  
    "Wooooowwww..."  
  
    " _Ernie_ ," Hilda repeated as her temper started to build up. She placed her fists on her hips. "Are you up to your old tricks again?"  
  
    "No, baby, I swear I'm not," Sam assured her, lifting his hands placatingly, "You know I love you."  
  
    "Yeah right! He's tryin' to swindle you for all you're worth," Al informed her with certainty, "If I were you, I'd take all your dough and leave this jerk behind."  
  
    Sam glared. "Don't listen to this idiot."  
  
    "It's not so nice when people don't back you up, is it?" retorted Al with an emphatic tilt of the head.  
  
    _SMASH!_ Both Sam and Al startled when a beer bottle shattered into the wall between them. Hilda reached toward the ugly green table to pick up another. "I should've listened to my father! You're nothing but a lying asshole!"  
  
    Sam tried to be as sweet as possible. "Hilda, baby, we can talk about this..."  
  
    "Ohhhh she's givin' you the evil eye, Sam," Al cautioned him, "She looks like she could melt diamonds right now...or is that cut?" He frowned. "That's not right. Cut--"  
  
    "Would you stop it?!" Sam barked. The next bottle hurled toward his head and he was suddenly on the floor.  
  
    "Sam!"  
  
    Hilda snatched her purse and her clothes, turned her nose up, and strode to the door. "Goodbye forever, Ernie--Sam--whatever your name is! Creep!" The door slammed shut, and the neighbor knocked on the wall in annoyance. Sam grunted and held his head.  
  
    "Hey, are you okay?" Al attempted to help him as he struggled to his feet, but his friend stepped out of his line of reach. A small trickle of blood was beginning to run down from his temple. "Aw jeez. I don't like the look of that cut, Sam."  
  
    Livid now, Sam lashed out by shoving Al as hard as he could. "What is your problem?!"  
  
    "What's _my_ problem?" Al asked incredulously, "You're the one robbing stores and ripping off sweet, innocent... _naked_...women..." His mind drifted for a moment.  
  
    "What's your stake in this? What does it matter?"  
  
    "It matters because this isn't you!"  
  
    "You don't know me!"  
  
    "Yes I do! And I know, deep down, you're a good person. It doesn't have to be like this."  
  
    Sam scrunched up his face in disgust. "Oh would you give it up?"  
  
    "What would your mom and dad think if they saw you now?" Al tried, edging closer, "They raised you to treat people with kindness. What about little Katie, huh? What would she say?"  
  
    "You shut up," Sam warned him.  
  
    "I can help you. You can do the right thing."  
  
    "I said shut up!"  
  
    The next thing Al knew, Sam's fist had collided with his nose. He staggered back and, once the stars cleared up, he moved his hands and saw blood. His head jerked up in shock. "You...you hit me, Sam!"  
  
    _Wham!_ Another sucker punch struck him square in the jaw, followed by a shot to the kidney. As Al folded in on himself, Sam spun around and landed a flying noodle kick right to, well, his noodle.  
  
    Al was too stunned in more ways than one to react to Sam's assailment. All he knew was that he was flat on his ass now, and Sam was straddling him. He lifted his head in a daze, and the other man laid into him with a rapid fire series of punches.  
  
    "Fuck you!" Sam spat out with as much venom as he could muster, "You just shut your mouth! Shut your goddamn mouth!" He continued to batter him about the head, even as the blood from his own wound began to run into his eyes and over his teeth.  
  
    Crimson was obscuring Al's vision too as he tried to feebly shield himself with his arms. "S-Sam..." he managed to mush-mouth through a fat lip. Sam snarled and grabbed the sides of his head, slamming him hard onto the floor. The room began to fade in and out.  
  
    It seemed like an eternity, but the attack couldn't have lasted more than a minute. At long last, Al felt Sam's weight leave him, and he groaned and turned his head to spit out the blood pooling in his mouth.  
  
    "I'm done playing games," Sam panted menacingly, "You tell Alia that if she messes with me again, I'll finish what I started when I stabbed her in the back." With that, he stalked away and the door slammed shut again.  
  
    The neighbor knocked on the wall. Al could only gaze at the ceiling and moan.  
  
    Well whoop-dee-doodle-doo.


	4. Chapter 4

    On a scale of 1 to 10, Al looked like a house fire. The mirror in the Richelieu foyer offered up another glimpse of his host's reflection, and he had to wince just from the sight. Ben looked back at him through the one eye that wasn't swollen shut, grimacing with a split lip and purpling jaw. Another bruise was forming over his left temple, just above the gash he'd received over his eyebrow. And this was just the damage that had been done to his face. _Sorry, kid_ , Al apologized to him. He began to limp toward the stairs.  
  
    "Oh lord!" Louise gasped in horror, "What happened?" She'd crossed the room in two seconds flat, reaching maternally toward his face. Being as gentle as possible, he lifted his hands and ducked away.  
  
    "Trust me, it looks worse than it is. I, uh..." He chuckled hollowly. "I just need to sit my ass down for a bit." A scolding look was shot in his direction. "I mean butt! Sit my butt down."  
  
    "That's what I thought you said." Louise tutted and inspected his wounds pityingly. "I'll fetch some things to patch you up. You go on and lie down." Al silently acknowledged her and exhaled tiredly. It seemed as if this wasn't the first time Ben had come home with his face rearranged. He couldn't contemplate it too much. He hadn't really processed what had happened this time.  
  
    Sam had done this. Sam Who, he wasn't sure now. Because, let's face it, it couldn't be Sam Beckett. Not his best friend. Sam's face didn't move that way, his mouth didn't say those words, and he never hurt anyone like he'd hurt him. Flashes of drunken mishaps and motorcycle accidents and the sweat-soaked jungle visited his mind as he brokenly ascended the stairs, injuries that were far more grievous and lasting than these wounds, but he couldn't say many compared to the personal hurt this one brought.  
  
    It's not like he didn't know that Sam would be different, especially if the evil leapers were involved. He knew he must have a closet full of some pretty nasty skeletons. But he'd expected him to be _happy_ to have an out. The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. Shit, he'd settle for just receiving some _gratitude_. But this...this was mess, was what it was. A real stinkin', awful crapshoot.  
  
    He held his aching side and tenderly lowered himself onto Ben's bed. There was a soft knock on the door and he glanced over expecting Louise, but Florette was the one who popped her head in. "May I come in?"  
  
    "Why not?" Al sucked in a breath and started to sit up.  
  
    "No, you stay there," Florette commanded, waving at him to lay back down. She made her way inside with a rag and some antiseptic.  
  
    Al started to protest. "Hey, you don't need to--"  
  
    "Shush, you. Now lay down."  
  
    It felt strange to be taking orders from a 15-year-old girl, but Al did as he was told. Sitting down softly on the bed next to him, she dipped the rag into the bottle and began to dab at his head. The sting from the contact made his face tighten, but he remained silent. It wasn't that bad. Besides, he wasn't going to whine in front of a teenage girl.  
  
    Florette. It should be him taking care of her. He looked at her, and light shone from her eyes, sunshine and flowers and all of that mushy junk. He just wanted to envelop her in his arms and protect that light from the world. She deserved better than weasels like Geoffrey. She deserved better than to be buried at 15. Buried and forgotten, like...  
  
    _"Hold still, Albert."_  
  
_"Ow! It hurts, Pops!" Al flinched as his father cleaned up the scrapes on his elbows. When he received a scornful stare, his face flushed red with shame._  
  
_"Then maybe you should not get in the fights, eh?" His words were wrapped up in a thick accent. He didn't always get his English perfect, but it was better than hearing him speak Italian, because then Al knew he was_ really _angry._  
  
_"I had to do it. Those kids were making fun of Trudy again! They called her monkey face!"_  
  
_Al's father paused and closed his eyes, but only for a moment, his face an instant mask of parental reason. "They should not have say those things,_ mio figlio _. But your anger get you in trouble. No more fights, okay?"_  
  
_"Okay." It was most certainly not the last fight. "Sorry, Pop."_  
  
_"Alright."_  
  
_"Someone's gotta stick up for her," Al reasoned, focusing on his feet as they swung nervously from the table he was sitting on. A large, comforting hand rested on top of his head, and he gazed up at his father smiling warmly at him._  
  
_"I know. She loves you too."_  
  
    "You were at the bar again, weren't you?" Florette stated more than asked, her voice clipped with irked condolement.  
  
    "Well, uh..." Al cleared his throat abashedly and sat up. "Not for the reason you'd think..."  
  
    "One of these days, Ben, your debts are gonna get you killed."  
  
    "Hey, don't worry about me," Al rebuffed, moving her hand away from his head. If he was going to make sure she made it to 16, he'd need to address the main objective of this leap. He couldn't forget about her because of Sam. "I'm more worried about your chowderhead boyfriend."  
  
    Florette's head tipped back. "Oh Ben, please don't start--"  
  
    "No, we need to discuss this. I don't want him to--"  
  
    "Florette, go to your room." Florette fearfully looked at their father in the doorway and hung her head meekly. Without another word, she got up and left.  
  
    Martin Richelieu was a stern-looking man, which was fitting since he was a stern person. Except, of course, when he was putting on a show for the public. His hair was parted on the side and slicked down smoothly, and not a strand was out of place. Neither did a single part of his wardrobe seem unthought out or wrinkled. He was a man of appearances, and he looked spit-shined and brand new.  
  
    Al looked like a meatloaf. "Oh, uh, hey...Pops." Al's good eye shifted evasively away. There was no hiding the fact he'd gotten the snot beat out of him, so he couldn't worm his way out of this one. Why did he suddenly feel 10 years old again?  
  
    "Benjamin. You've embarrassed me again."  
  
    Well he didn't have to make _that_ the starter. Al thought he could've at least asked how his son was. "I'm fine," he offered sarcastically, "Thanks for asking." Mr. Richelieu didn't find his comment nearly as funny as he did.  
  
    "You're breathing, aren't you?" he questioned coldly. He crossed the room and looked down at him, his hands clasped behind his back. "I don't care how it happened this time. What was the one thing I told you when you wired me to come back?"  
  
    "Uhhhh..."  
  
    "To not damage the reputation of this family. I am the mayor of this city, and I will not be made a fool of!"  
  
    "Hey, I didn't get my teeth knocked in on purpose!" Al shouted defensively. His father bolted closer with a single wide step, shoving a finger inches from his good eye.  
  
    "No more, you hear me? You are not to gamble, drink, or otherwise perform misconduct. One more incident, and you're out! I don't care if you are my son!" Without waiting for a response, he pivoted around and strode out of the room.  
  
    This day couldn't get any worse. So now Ben's future was at risk on top of everything else? No pressure then. How was he going to complete anything he'd set out to do without getting Ben into at least a little bit of trouble? Geoffrey played dirty, and Sam...he didn't know what to do with Sam. He laid his head back down, shut his eye, and groaned.  
  
    "I tried to warn you."  
  
    Alia sat beside him, her mouth pursed empathetically. But she also carried a certain air, a "you messed up" vibe, which even Al had to admit was deserved. At first, he'd been upset that she had written Sam off so easily when he was sharing her same fate, but now he fully comprehended why she was holding a grudge. Grunting, he pulled himself into a sitting position.  
  
    "He, uh, Sam...he put you in that chair, didn't he?" Alia nodded. Al lowered his head guiltily. "I'm sorry...if I forgot."  
  
    "I never told you." She twisted her fingers together contemplatively. The unspoken question hung in the air between them, but Al waited for her to tell him in her own time. Her hands dropped into her lap. "When I was at...that place, he was my closest friend. We told each other about our lives before leaping, our darkest secrets, our dreams... Half the time, I think we were only alive because we had each other." Her voice was thick for a moment, and she took a deep breath. When she spoke again, anger burned afresh beneath her words. "When I found a way out, I tried to take him with me. They told him to stop me. He took a knife, and he..." She swallowed. "He stuck it in my spinal cord. I was left there to die. I would have if someone hadn't found me."  
  
    Al was quiet. His brows were furrowed as he attempted to wrap his head around this information, trying and failing to see Sam as someone capable of such an act. But the evidence had been laid out before him. Sam had said it himself. A holographic hand hovered over his, knocking him back into Ben's room. Alia's lips thinned consolingly.  
  
    "He's not the same person you knew, Al."  
  
    "I'm sorry about what he did to you," Al said softly, "I mean it."  
  
    Alia thought again for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Al...what if you didn't change the timeline back?"  
  
    Painfully, Al's eyebrows shot up. "What?"  
  
    "What if you left it like it is now?"  
  
    Al laughed. "That'd be ridiculous!"  
  
    "Why?"  
  
    "Because it's not how things went, that's why!"  
  
    "Is the timeline you want back how things originally went?"  
  
    A pause. "Well...no, not exactly," Al admitted reluctantly.  
  
    "Then maybe this change was supposed to happen too," Alia stated, "Maybe _this_...is how things are now."  
  
    Al couldn't blame her for how she felt. Hell, he'd be in the same boat if their positions were switched. What if one day, Sam had told him he'd never been part of the Project? As far as he was concerned, that was his life. And Alia's fate in his timeline wasn't exactly certain, so why would she want to go back to that?  
  
    "Come on, Alia," Al appealed to her, "Do you really wanna stay in the timeline where you're stuck in that chair and Sam's working with the bad guys?"  
  
    Alia pursed her lips. "I want to stay in the timeline where I've helped people who deserve it."  
  
    " _Sam_ deserves it," argued Al, "And I think I was gettin' through to him, I really do. I just need more time."  
  
    "Time is something you don't have," Alia told him shortly, "Because there's a young woman who's depending on you, and once she's saved you'll leap. Sam will be gone, and that's the end of it."  
  
    Al narrowed his one eye. "Are you hypothesizing here or is that a request?"  
  
    "It's an order." Alia straightened her back and addressed him not as his friend, but as his boss. "He's too much of a liability for us. If you continue to try and contact Sam, you'll be cut off from the Project."  
  
    There it was. Alia's betrayal, laid out on the table. She was playing her final card. Al snorted darkly. "Well. It's nice to see your true colors, Alia."  
  
    Alia's rigid expression softened imploringly. The corners of her mouth twitched. "Don't make me do this, Al. Not to you."  
  
    She hadn't left him with much of a choice, had she? The line was drawn in the sand now. But things couldn't be left like this. Al knew which side he was on.  
  
    "I guess this is goodbye then," he said. It was tinged with regret, but he was final with his choice.  
  
    Alia was taken aback, at first saying nothing. She swallowed, considered saying something, then decided against it. Instead, she went with, "Goodbye, Al."  
  
    "Good--" The Imaging Chamber clunked shut. Al was jolted by the abrupt termination.  
  
    Gee, this was familiar. All he had now was he, himself, and his dick in his hand.  
  
\-------  
  
    Red eddied down the drain as Sam ran the water over his split knuckles. How long he watched it, he wasn't sure, because his mind was miles away from this hotel bathroom. It was anywhere but here, where he always longed to go. The last time he'd ever been somewhere he wanted to be was when he was 16 and in Elk Ridge, Indiana. After that, everything changed. Everything. Wherever he was going to go before, he couldn't go there now.  
  
    They _knew_ where he was going, right? They dealt in time travel. They must have known what his future was before they took him. Which meant that at some point, he had another life. _Which meant_ that there had to be some truth to what Al Calavicci had told him.  
  
    Right. In some other future, he was _still_ trapped in time, only there he put right what once went wrong. How absurdly idealistic. Seems no matter what timeline he was in, fictional or not, he was someone else's errand boy. What an absolute load.  
  
    "I must say, Samuel, that was an entertaining watch." He didn't turn around, but he could hear the wry smirk in Zoey's voice. "Watching you pummel the captain's face in gave me such a rush of pleasure. I hope it was as good for you as it was for me."  
  
    As usual, Sam ignored her double entendres. He splashed some water on his face and turned the sink off. "If you were watching me, you know everything I know about him. What do you want me to do?"  
  
    "Lothos has a plan to hit two birds with one stone. It's a _delicious_ solution to both your problems." Sam lowered the towel from his face. Handlink in one hand and cheek propped in the other, Zoey seemed as if she were remembering a funny joke.  
  
    Despite himself, a small smile crept onto the edges of Sam's mouth too. "Do I get to hurt him again?"  
  
    "Trust me," Zoey said gleefully, stepping closer, "By tomorrow afternoon, you won't have to worry about this leap or the admiral any more."  
  
    The thought of finally getting this leap over with made Sam happy. He'd gotten sick of this scenery a long time ago, and he was ready for his next assignment. But his grin faltered, and he couldn't shake this nagging feeling that was buzzing in the back of his mind. Hadn't Zoey said Al was a captain before?  
  
\-------  
  
    Okay, so Al wasn't gonna be winning any beauty contests, but his appearance today was a marked improvement from yesterday. The swelling had gone away and granted him use of both eyes, leaving only an impressive shiner behind, and his cut lip and forehead seemed a lot less nasty now that they'd been cleaned up and dried. However, he had a feeling he wouldn't be receiving any more propositions from Ben's lady friends. It was just as well, because he didn't like feeling like a cradle-robbing grandpa.  
  
    Mardi Gras was tomorrow night, and early celebrations were in full swing. Jazz music filled the street as Al walked down it with a smoothened gait, bobbing his head to the tunes. Someone offered to sell him fireworks, which he politely declined, tempting as it was. He had a mission. He was going to get Ben into some trouble.  
  
    That is, if Ben's father ever found out he was going to that bar again, but with any luck he wouldn't. He'd just have to be in and out of the place without adding any new bruises to his collection. Regardless, he needed to find out where Sam was after finding that hotel room vacated, and he was willing to bet someone in that bar knew something about him. At the very least, he could get a full name for the leapee.  
  
    What was that phrase about best laid plans again?  
  
    "Hey, dip stick!" Al froze and screwed up his face in aggravation. Not this putz again! Licking his lips, he slowly shuffled to face Geoffrey. This time, however, he was flanked with two smaller--but still ugly--gargoyles on either side. "It's time for payback."  
  
    "Welly well well," Al said, mockingly impressed, "I gotta say, you're lookin' awful bulky and stupid today, Geoffrey."  
  
    Geoffrey planted a fist into his palm. "You're cruisin' for a bruisin', pal."  
  
    "What's the matter? Didn't get enough of a butt-kicking last time?" Al realized he didn't look like much with his face all sorts of new hues today, not to mention he was outnumbered, but he didn't have much of a tolerance for weasels. A voice inside his head was shouting at him to remember the threat from Ben's father, but he swatted it away.  
  
    "That's it. Get him, boys." Chunkster nodded to his flunkies, who cracked their knuckles and menaced forward.  
  
    "What's going on here?" Florette was there now, watching them worriedly.  
  
    "Nothin', babe," Geoffrey said casually, "We're just teachin' your brother here a lesson."  
  
    "You leave him alone," Florette demanded angrily. She stepped between the three of them and Al, her hands on her hips. "I've had enough of you two fighting! Now apologize, and we'll go somewhere to cool off."  
  
    Geoffrey's patience had run out. Fuming, he grabbed Florette by the arm and tossed her out of the way. "You stay out of this!"  
  
    "Ow!" Florette rubbed her arm and shot Geoffrey a royally ticked off look. She stamped her foot. "That's it! We're through this time!"  
  
    "What? You can't do that!"  
  
    "I can and I will!"  
  
    Steam could've been coming out of his ears. He stalked toward Florette, who began to shrink away in fear. "Why you--" Someone whistled loudly, and he and his goons suddenly looked a lot less confident.  
  
    Maybe Al had wanted some fireworks after all. He had a set of some very large and impressive ones aimed straight at their pocket rockets, his hand poised to light them with a match. A cocky smirk shot in their direction.  
  
    Geoffrey's mouth fell open dumbly. "You wouldn't."  
  
    "I would." The match made an impossibly loud noise as it scraped against the book, because the crowd was watching in anticipated silence. Even the music had stopped. They had already cleared a path away from the Three Stooges. The fuses began to burn.  
  
    "Are you crazy?" Geoffrey shouted in terror, "Someone could get hurt!"  
  
    "Guess you'd better run fast then."  
  
    A small firework began to spark, and Geoffrey's flunkies jumped and ran. Geoffrey wasn't far behind, and they high-tailed it just as the larger ones began to go off in their direction. A small applause began as the music swelled up again. Al grinned smugly. Not bad, he thought. Pretty soon, the three bullies had disappeared into the distance.  
  
    Florette wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh, Ben, you were right the whole time! I'm so sorry!"  
  
    Al returned the hug. "Hey. It's what big brothers are for." He held the embrace longer than was necessary, taking pride in the feel of his sister's arms around him. It felt good to have done something right this leap. But then...if he saved Florette, he should be leaping. His heart sunk into his stomach. If he leaped, he couldn't save Sam. But, he wasn't leaping. Why wasn't he leaping?  
  
    "Hey Al, head's up!"  
  
    Something cracked into the back of his head, and the lights went out.  
  
\-------  
  
    Al was dreaming peacefully about a, ahem, steamy encounter with Brenda in Coding when he was roused from his slumber by a brisk slap to the face. "Huh? Whazzat...? Ughh..." Somebody was doing the samba in his throbbing cranium, and it was very rude. His vision began to clear, and an entertained Sam came into view.  
  
    "Wakey wakey, Al!" he jeered, "You don't want to miss out on all the fun, do you?"  
  
    "Sam, what--?" When he attempted to get up, he found his movement restricted by ropes around his wrists and torso. He looked down, and his breathing stopped.  
  
    Several sticks of dynamite were strapped to his chest.  
  
    "Oh boy," Sam said with a devilish grin.


	5. Chapter 5

    Firstly, the bad news. Al was in the bar again, which meant he'd broken his new father's rules and Ben was possibly on the outs. In addition, the timeline was still altered, Sam was still evil, and the Project had abandoned him. Furthermore, enough explosives to blow the roof sky high were currently tied around his chest. And secondly, there was no good news.  He had explosives attached to his friggin' chest!  
  
    Sam was leaning on his knees to face him as he sat on the floor, propped up against the pool table. "Oh captain, my captain... Looks like you're in a real pickle."  
  
    "Uhhh, Sam," Al chuckled timidly, "What's goin' on here?"  
  
    "Well, Al," Sam started, brushing off his knees and straightening up, "I've leaped into a real doozy this time. Seems like Ernest is really strapped for cash, and he's just desperate enough to hold the mayor's son hostage. For a sum of, say...100,000 dollars?"  
  
    "Are you nuts?!" Al screeched rhetorically, "This is the 50s! No one's gonna cough up that kinda cash!"  
  
    "Hmm..." Sam stroked his chin in consideration. "No, I suppose not. But what do I know? I'm not gonna be here to find out."  
  
    "Meaning?"  
  
    "Meaning, I've set a 3 o'clock deadline. When they don't pay up, I'm lighting the fuse. That'll complete my leap objective, and I'm outta here!" Sam jabbed his thumb behind him excitedly, as if Al were in on the plan all along.  
  
    "You're gonna kill us!" Al pointed out in stupefied horror.  
  
    "Nothing gets past you, does it?" With a tilt of the head, Sam strolled casually toward the bar and began to pour himself a drink. "The way I figure, you have about..." He looked toward the clock on the far wall. "...five more minutes to live." He raised his glass and smirked. "Cheers."  
  
    The more Al struggled with his bonds, the tighter they seemed to wrap around him. No, this was not happening. How could the shit have hit the fan this badly, this quick?! Sam, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. As he threw back a shot of whiskey, he didn't seem to have a care in the world.  
  
    Biting back the chilling fear that was overtaking him, Al tried to appeal to whatever was left of his friend. "Sam. You don't want to kill me. This isn't you."  
  
    Sam set down his glass. "You think you're the first person I've killed?"  
  
    "You wouldn't kill someone in cold blood. Not if you had a choice in it."  
  
    "Is that so?"  
  
    "Yes. I know that for a fact."  
  
    Running his middle finger along the rim of the glass, Sam reflected a moment before moving to the front of the bar again. "When I was growing up, my father taught me that there was good inside every person." He snorted and leaned against the bar, crossing his arms. "Is that what you believe, Captain Calavicci?"  
  
    Al wriggled into a more comfortable position, speaking to him directly. "No," he answered, "I believe there are people out there without a speck of decency in them, people without souls, pure, undiluted evil. But you're not one of 'em."  
  
    Sam nodded and twisted his back to reach for another drink. "This isn't gonna save your life, you know."  
  
    "It's not just about saving my life. It's about saving yours."  
  
    Sam paused. He glanced back, met Al's gaze for a beat, then shrugged. "You can't save them all." He returned his attention to the bar.  
  
    Sam might not be a Boy Scout this time around, but evidently he'd picked up some of their knot-tying techniques, because Al was getting nowhere fast trying to free himself. Luckily for helpless and idea-less former-admirals-turned-disgraced-captains, a familiar whoosh only heard by him reached his ears. He perked up in elated surprise. "I knew you wouldn't leave me behind," he whispered, pleased with himself.  
  
    "Yeah yeah. Quit being a know-it-all and listen up," Alia commanded urgently, "According to Ziggy, history has changed again, and now Ben and Ernest die!"  
  
    "Tell Ziggy thank you for stating the obvious," Al said quietly, trying to speak out of Sam's earshot. His eyes darted toward the bar, but he hadn't caught on to the conversation. "We've got about two minutes before Sam lights me up and sends me to the great beyond!"  
  
    "No, he doesn't. Because in four minutes, Ernest Rey is going to get shot by the police through that window." Alia motioned a finger to the front right window. "And you're gonna get caught in the crossfire!"  
  
    Al furrowed his brows, but his grim expression was marred by his inescapable grin. "He changes his mind."  
  
    "Are you listening to me, Al? I said you're going to die!"  
  
    "Well if you have any brilliant ideas, I'm listening." Al tugged at the ropes binding him to demonstrate his predicament.  
  
    "Okay, buddy, listen up," Alia said, scooting forward. She gestured toward the window on the left. "Somehow, you have to get Sam over to that window over there. They'll shoot him, but you won't be in the line of fire this time."  
  
    "No way!" Al protested, louder than he'd intended. Thankfully, Sam still hadn't heard. He lowered his voice. "I'm not getting Sam killed."  
  
    "You don't have any other options, Al," Alia said apologetically, "At this point, it's him or you."  
  
    "I can convince him to let me go. I can save both our skins, I know it."  
  
    Eyes flicking toward the clock, Alia bit her bottom lip. "Are you willing to bet your life on that?"  
  
    "I have to."  
  
    Al and Alia had mirrored expressions, eyes and mouths hard. Alia understood and nodded supportively. "Good luck."  
  
    The flick of a lighter got their attention. The glow from the flame lit up Sam's face eerily as he lit the cigar in his mouth. "Time's up, pal," he said through a cloud of smoke. He crossed the room and knelt down at the end of the long fuse attached to the dynamite. "It's been swell."  
  
    "Wait! Before we go blowing anyone up, I gotta tell you somethin' real important!"  
     
    "Oh yeah? What's that?" Sam asked through the cigar in his teeth.  
  
    "Your plan isn't gonna work. Your friends aren't coming for you."  
  
    Sam blew out a puff of smoke and pursed his lips, running his tongue over his teeth. He tutted. "I guess that's a chance I'm gonna have to take." He lifted his lighter, flicked it on, and ignited the fuse.  
  
    Al's eyes went huge. "I thought you said he doesn't blow us up!" he shouted at Alia.  
  
    Alia was frantically punching buttons on the handlink. "It was only a 68% chance!" She looked at the screen and choked. "69% now! 70! Al, it's going up!"  
  
    "You got one minute, Al," Sam said with a cold smile. He stood up and waited expectantly to be engulfed in red light.  
  
    "They're not retrieving you, Sam!" Al shouted, his eyes glued to the spark racing its way toward him, "Trust me! _You're_ gonna die here, not Ernest! Not to mention _me_..." he added under his breath. Sam kept his back turned to him. Al dared to move his eyes toward the clock. _40 seconds._  
  
_39..._  
  
_38..._  
  
    "Hurry, Al!" Alia pleaded, her fingers to her lips.  
  
    "Oh, and, Alia, if you're watching," Sam said, craning his neck toward them, "I missed you, babe." He winked and turned around.  
  
    "You son of a bitch!" Alia shot toward him and took a useless swing, her arm passing ineffectually through him.  
  
  _20 seconds._  
  
_19..._  
  
_18..._  
  
    "Sam! Please!"  
  
    _14..._  
  
_13..._  
  
    Sam frowned.  
  
    _11..._  
  
_10..._  
  
    The fuse got closer. Sam looked worried now. "Zoey! Get me out of here!"  
  
    _7..._  
  
_6..._  
  
    "Al!"  
  
    "Sam!"  
  
    "Zoey!"  
  
    Alia screamed and her hands flew over her eyes.  
  
    _3..._  
  
_2..._  
  
_Stomp!_  
  
    Sam's foot stamped down over the fuse, and all three of them let out a collective sigh of relief.  
  
    "Thank god!" Al gasped, closing his eyes. His head plonked back against the pool table right in a sore spot, but he couldn't care less.  
  
    "Shit!" Sam ran his hand over his mouth, angrily pivoted away, and paced. Sweat glistened on his forehead.  
  
    "Al, are you okay?" Alia asked, and he nodded. She exhaled and shook her head. "You know, I hate you sometimes..."  
  
    "For almost getting blown up?!" Al panted in disbelief.  
  
    "For always being right." She gave him a feeble grin and looked remorsefully toward Sam.  
  
    Al chuckled weakly. "Well yeah. I knew _that_. Oh!" He looked toward the clock. "Sam!"  
  
    Sam stopped his pacing just before he reached the window, facing Al in irritation. " _What?_ "  
  
    "Never mind." Sam shot daggers at him and paced in the opposite direction. Unknown to him, a self-satisfied smirk touched Al's lips.  
  
    "You're a good man," Alia said to Al. She narrowed her eyes at Sam and punched in the code for the Imaging Chamber door. "I'm gonna have Ziggy run scenarios to see if there's a way out of this. You hang in there."  
  
    "Alia." Alia stopped. "Thanks."  
  
    She smiled and shut the door.  
  
    As for Sam, he heard another door opening as Zoey finally made her appearance. "Where the hell were you?!" he snarled.  
  
    Zoey seemed taken aback for a moment. She dryly brushed off the shoulders of her leather dress. "You seem upset, Samuel."  
  
    "Upset?" Sam laughed, "I'm furious! You were gonna leave me here to die!"  
  
    "Now now, don't exaggerate," Zoey said patronizingly, "If we were going to kill you, I wouldn't be here, now would I?" Her image skipped for a moment. Sam furrowed his brows.  
  
    "What's with your signal?"  
  
    "That's what I was _going_ to tell you. We're experiencing some...technical difficulties at the moment." Another skip. "A nearby facility is causing a power drain. That makes retrieving you impossible for now. We'll be out of contact until we can establish a better lock on the timeline."  
  
    "What?" Sam asked incredulously, "How long is that gonna be?"  
  
    Zoey shrugged nonchalantly. "Could be a few hours. Could be a few days. These things are so hard to tell."  
  
    "A few days?! If I leave this place, I'm gonna get shot! What the hell am I supposed to do until then?!"  
  
    "You made it this far, didn't you?" Zoey asked. She raised an eyebrow and skipped again. " _Improvise_." With that last bit of unhelpful advice, she fizzled out. His face slack, Sam was left frozen in place with his hands on his hips.  
  
    "Trouble with the home team?" Al asked from across the room. Sam simply gaped at him. "Ain't that a kick in the butt?"  
  
\-------  
  
    It had been at least an hour since Sam's deadline had passed, and the bar was only getting smaller and more stifling. Neither of them had any ideas, and Al wondered how much longer they'd be safe here. He'd feel a whole lot safer without dynamite strapped to his person, that was for sure.  
  
    Sam sat down beside him on the ground, resting his arms on his knees and staring at the wall. Al raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "Cigar?" Sam pulled a couple out of his pants pocket, along with his lighter.  
  
    "Ah, Sam..." Al lowered his chin toward the dynamite. "I'd rather not have anything flammable near me, if you don't mind."  
  
    Casting a look at the dynamite, Sam let out a put-upon sigh. Placing the two cigars in his teeth, he yanked the dynamite out of the ropes and tossed it across the room. It was no small relief to Al, whose body immediately relaxed at the lifted burden. Sam lit the stogies simultaneously, pulled one out of his mouth, and shoved it into Al's.  
  
    Al coughed a little in surprise, but truthfully he'd been dying for a cigar since this leap had started. Not to mention, Sam hadn't cheaped out on quality. "You got good taste, kid," he admitted. He pushed himself up with his feet to get more comfortable.  
  
    Sam blew out a stream of smoke. "We're fucked."  
  
    "You should watch your language, Sam. That's a bad habit."  
  
    "Fuck off."  
  
    "Well _excuse_ fuckin' _me_."  
  
    Apparently, Sam wasn't interested in his cigar anymore. He stubbed it out on the floor, and Al mourned at the waste of a perfectly good Havana. "Can I ask you a question?"  
  
    "Shoot, kid."  
  
    "Why did you start leaping?" Sam tore his eyes away from the wall to look at Al again. "I mean, you had a choice, so why the hell would you want to get involved with this?"  
  
    That was a good question. With all his swiss-cheesing, Al wasn't exactly sure. "I don't really remember, to be honest."  
  
    Sam huffed and lowered one of his legs. "I hate leaping. You jump into someone else's life and all of a sudden you have all of their problems. Then there's crying, and moping, and you start feeling what they're feeling... I can't stand it."  
  
    Al sucked on his cigar and narrowed his eyes. Regretfully, he rolled onto his side to put out the cigar with his mouth, wishing guiltily for an ash tray. He grunted and righted himself. "I think leaping is about second chances, and...I wouldn't be around if I didn't have a second chance or two."  
  
    Sam laughed. "That sounds pretty naive."  
  
    "Yeah, well I learned it from you."  
  
    Sam was suddenly less amused. "You've gotta cut that out," he said curtly.  
  
    "Cut what out?"  
  
    "All these things you're sayin' about me. Stop acting like I'm some kinda saint or something."  
  
    Now it was Al's turn to laugh. "You aren't a saint, believe me," he told him, "You're stubborn, and uptight, and sometimes you say things without thinking because you don't always use that genius brain of yours. But you're a good guy."  
  
    Sam's face twisted into a scowl. "You're so full of shit." He got to his feet and suddenly found the wall interesting again.  
  
    "You, uh, want some balloons?"  
  
    Sam faced him again, baffled. " _What?_ "  
  
    "To go with that pity party you're throwin' over there." Sam fumed, and Al leaned forward and glared. He was long since done with Sam's attitude. "You're spendin' so much time feeling sorry for yourself, you can't be damned to actually try and change anything!"  
  
    Sam glowered. "Why do you care so much?"  
  
    Al leaned back again and chuckled in self-deprecation. "Because I'm a damn hero. And so are you."  
  
    "Oh don't talk to me about heroes! I waited for you!" Sam was past the boiling point now, finally having a release for all of his blame and hatred. Al was taken aback by all of the rage that was being aimed smack dab at him. Sam gasped for breath and jabbed at him accusatorially. "When they took me, where were you? When Tom died, where were you? And when they tortured me, and kept me in that hellhole for _thirty years_ , where were you?!" Spit flew from his mouth and he violently punched at the air. He panted and said quietly, "I gave up waiting on heroes a long time ago." He went silent and ran his hand through his hair.  
  
    "I'm here now. Sam." Al was soft-spoken but firm. "I'm here to rescue you _now_."  
  
    Sam was silent for a long time. He rubbed at his eyes. "You only want to help me because I look like him. But I'm not that guy."  
  
    "You really are," Al assured him, "You're literally the same person, capable of the same things. The Sam Beckett I know spent six years leaping from life to life, putting right what once went wrong. He would've given up his one chance to go home to save a friend, and he did." Sam huffed and looked at the floor. Al leaned forward. "He would've given anything to be able to go back and save Tom, and he did." Sam lifted his head. "And you still can. I want to help _you_ , Sam. Because _you_ are a damn hero."  
  
    Sam was speechless. He simply stood frozen, awestruck, and, for the first time this leap, seriously contemplated the impossible.  
  
    Jeez, all of these big speeches were winding him. Al took a deep breath and explained, "You did this for Alia once. If we're touching when I leap, you'll leap with me. Then we can try and figure out how to reverse this mess."  
  
    When Sam met Al's gaze again, his voice was tinged with fear. "Do you have any idea what they'd do to me if I went against their orders?"  
  
    "I have a pretty good picture."  
  
    "I don't think you do."  
  
    Al could tell he was starting to lose ground. He hesitated, licked his lips, and said shakily, "They would attach metal hooks, and beat you, and leave you in a cage that was too small to stand up or sit down in. And they'd shove things under your fingernails, and feed you just enough to keep you alive, but not enough to call any of it living." He closed his eyes to collect himself. "And sometimes, you wake up in a cold sweat, and, just for a split second, you're afraid it's still happening. That about the size of it?"  
  
    Sam sniffed. He frowned and hid his face.  
  
    "You do some unconscionable things in war, Sam," Al continued, "and you can't be held responsible for the things they made you do. But you have a choice now. Now is when you decide if you really are the monster they tried to make you."  
  
    Again, Sam could say nothing. But inside his mind, a thousand thoughts were fighting each other. His eyes were wet, and he quickly wiped them dry with his fingers. When he looked at Al again, he saw not his enemy, but a man waiting in patient solidarity. He thought of everything he'd just been told, and saw the man before him, his former friend, in a different light. He thought of the ropes.  
  
    Without a word, he approached Al again, crouched down, and untied him. Al's bones creaked as he got to his feet, but it was a wonderful feeling. He rubbed gingerly at his raw wrists and said, "Thanks, Sam."  
  
    Sam waved dismissively as he walked away.  
  
    "Sam!" Al gasped, suddenly frightened, "Get away from the window!" In a split second, Sam only had time to turn in confusion as Al tackled him to the ground and a bullet showered them with glass. He tried to get up. "No stay down, stay down on the floor!" Al waved frantically toward the ground, then began to crawl toward the other side of the room. He motioned for Sam to follow. "This way! Quick quick quick!" They reached the corner of the room, away from the windows, and he panted as he leaned against the wall.  
  
    Sam gaped at him, dumbstruck. "You saved my life."  
  
    "Let's not celebrate too soon," Al said, glancing sideways toward the windows, "We gotta get you outta here."  
  
    "How?"  
  
    Al had an awful idea.  
  
\-------  
  
    _Kaboom!_ Al was very impressed. Even one stick of dynamite packed one hell of a punch. "Move it, Sam! You only got so much time!" Sam nodded and made a dash for the exit. While everyone was distracted by the explosion at the side of the building, Sam would be making a run for it out the back. Al was 90% sure it would work. 87%. Some high percentage, anyway.  
  
    Before Sam left, he stopped at the door. He furrowed his brows.  
  
    "What are you waiting for?" questioned Al in a frenzy, "Get goin'!"  
  
    Sam didn't budge. "Why do you believe in me so much?"  
  
    Relaxing and narrowing his eyes, Al told him, "Because once upon a time, you were the only one who believed in me. Now get out of here, will ya?"  
  
    Sam nodded and he was gone. Al raised his hands as the police emerged through the brand new hole in the wall. "Don't shoot! I'm the hostage!" He jerked his head to the door on the opposite side. "He took off that way!"  
  
    The police ran toward the other exit. Al hoped he'd made the right call this time.  
  
    "Al! What did you do?!"  
  
    Uh-oh. He saw a panicked Alia flapping the handlink in the air. "Uhhh, the right thing?"  
  
    "What--What is--?" Alia gawked at the blown up wall, but decided she didn't have time for the answer. "Never mind, whatever you did, it changed history in a big way. Tomorrow, there's going to be an explosion at Mardi Gras! 116 people die, including Florette!"  
  
    Gulp. Maybe he _hadn't_ made the right call.


	6. Chapter 6

    Once Al had been cleared out of the bar, that's when the waterworks really started. Florette was a mess, and for the longest time she wouldn't let him go. Even his father had shed his public mask and broken down to hold him. Al had a feeling Ben's relationship with him had been mended, but that couldn't raise his spirits at the moment. With one or two disasters already diverted, he now had the task of preventing a catastrophe ten times worse.  
  
    He had thought for sure that he'd finally reached Sam. He'd let him go, hadn't he? And, not to toot his own horn, but he did save his life back there. So why the heck was he going to blow up a bunch of people at Mardi Gras? That was a real blow, to say the least.  
  
    There was one thing, however, he could change right off the bat. "Hey, Florette." He stopped her as they were walking up the front steps of their home. Louise strayed for a moment, realized Al wanted some privacy, and left them alone. The sun was already set, leaving only the porch lights to see.  
  
    "What is it, Ben?"  
  
    "I, uh," Al strained his neck distractedly, "I don't want you to celebrate Mardi Gras tomorrow."  
  
    She frowned. "Why not?"  
  
    "Because I don't want you to get hurt."  
  
    "How would I get hurt?" Florette giggled and pushed him playfully. He grabbed her by the shoulders.  
  
    "I'm not joking around here. It's dangerous, and I don't want you there."  
  
    Looking sympathetic, Florette placed her hands on his shoulders too. "I understand. After everything that happened today... I'd be scared too. But you don't have to worry about me." She hugged him again. "I'm just so grateful you're alive."  
  
    This was going frustratingly nowhere. "Trudy, I--" Al stopped himself.  
  
    "Trudy?" Florette pulled away, puzzled. "Who's Trudy?"  
  
    "No one," Al covered quickly, "I misspoke. Please, Florette. Do this for me."  
  
    "I'll be okay. You just take care of yourself." She touched his cheek, smiled encouragingly, and went inside. Al slanted his mouth and stayed in place.  
  
    Someone cleared their throat. Al turned, saw Sam standing at the bottom of the steps, and knitted his brows.  
  
    Unlike the other encounters Sam had initiated this leap, he didn't seem cocky or self-assured this time. He rubbed his arm nervously. "So..." he said hesitantly, "what wrong do we need to put right?"  
  
    Al blinked. "Well, we, uh, we could start with not blowing up 116 people."  
  
    "Huh?" Sam looked confused.  
  
    Now Al was confused too. "You mean you don't know?"  
  
    "Know what? Who's blowing up 116 people?"  
  
    With an urgency to his step, Al hurried down the stairs to stand beside him. "Sam, has your project gotten in contact with you since the power drain?"  
  
    "If they had, do you think I'd be talking to you? They would've retrieved me already and I'd be screwed!"  
  
    Al rubbed his neck in thought. "If they didn't order you to do it, who sets off the bomb during Mardi Gras?"  
  
    "Oh damn!" Sam's eyes went wide. "Damn damn damn!"  
  
    "What? What is it?"  
  
    "They did this to me before." Sam pursed his lips in frustration. "I screwed up, and they sent in another leaper. They don't think I'm doing the job properly, so they're going to do something even worse."  
  
    "If they sent someone else in, why are you still here?"  
  
    A dark shadow passed over Sam. "They want me to watch."  
  
    Suddenly, Al had an idea. He grinned. "That means we have an advantage." Sam folded his arms skeptically, but he was sure on this one. "If they don't know you're helping me, you can find out where the bomb is gonna go off!" He snapped his fingers as the plan started to come together in his mind. "You don't even have to do anything. Just be there, Alia can center on you, and I put the kibosh on the whole kit and caboodle. I leap, and before they even know what's happening--" He clapped. "--we're outta here, lickety-split!"  
  
    Despite this solid and, dare he say, brilliant plan, Sam did not share his enthusiasm. He bit his lip and tightened his grip around himself doubtfully.  
  
    "C'mon, Sam. It's a good plan."  
  
    Al waited, his body buzzing with self-assurance. This was going to work. Finally, Sam gave a groaning sigh and let his arms drop. "Oh what the hell? For once..." He raised his eyebrows and gave a slightly embarrassed grin. "Let's save them all."  
  
\-------  
  
    If the pre-Mardi Gras celebration was hectic, the actual day was madness. The streets were crowded as far as the eye could see, full of music and dancing and bodies moving, costumes ranging of every color in the rainbow. It was just as Al remembered. Despite his anxiousness over the impending explosion, he couldn't help but be taken in by the joy of the people surrounding him. As he bopped up and down to the beat, he kept his ears open for Alia's signal.  
  
    As for Alia, she was very suspicious of Sam's involvement. She'd tried to convince Al to find another way, but, as he had pointed out, what were their other options? Good point, she'd said. Exactly, he'd replied, but with a smart ass tone. He knew the one that drove her up the wall. They had an idea of where the epicenter of the explosion was from the records, but the crowd was too chaotic to be able to make out who was placing the bomb where. Don't worry, Al had assured her, Sam would be there.  
  
    Sam was indeed there, and, luckily for him, he was a lot better at lying in this timeline. That didn't mean that he still wasn't scared as hell. One misstep, and he would find himself back in the Disciplinary Chamber. For how long this time, he didn't want to think. Not that he wouldn't be punished for screwing up his leap objective regardless. But if they found out he was betraying them...if this didn't work... He couldn't think of what would happen.  
  
    As the heat from the sun and the bodies and the terror stained his clothes with sweat, he flapped his shirt over his chest. Beside him stood Thames, holding a large satchel and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.  
  
    "Oooh, if you don't mind me sayin', this party is the _bomb!_ " Thames belted out an uproarious laugh at his own joke, obnoxiously bumping into Sam with his hip. Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't look so down, Sammy boy! You're gonna learn how the pros do it."  
  
    "Don't call me Sammy."  
  
    " _Someone_ has sour grapes." He giggled. "You had your chance. Maybe next time, you won't fuck it up." Then, leaning in closer to Sam's ear, he whispered giddily, "When they get through with you back at the Project, you'll be wishing you blew up in that bar."  
  
    Sam said nothing, keeping his eyes on the crowd. _Al, where the hell are you?_  
  
\-------  
  
    "Al, are you sure about this?"  
  
    "For the last time, yes," Al told Alia again for what seemed like the millionth time, "Now go center on Sam so we can save the day or whatever, huh?"  
  
    "No, I mean..." Alia trailed off, stared intensely at the partiers, then returned her attention to him. "Are you sure you can leap with him?"  
  
    Al wasn't sure how to interpret her tone. He felt like he was giving Alia a death sentence. "Yeah."  
  
    Alia took this in, absorbed it, and became very grave as she watched the happy crowd again. When she met Al's gaze again, she said encouragingly, "I hope it works."  
  
    And she meant it, because Al knew what kind of woman she was. She was like Sam, and maybe that's why he liked her so much. Because for all of her bullheadedness, she always did the right thing in the end. And she knew what the right thing was here. With a press of a button, she popped away to find Sam.  
  
    No sooner had she disappeared, when she popped back in with a look of urgency. "He's putting it into one of the floats right now, Al! Hurry!" As she flailed her arm frantically at him, she phased through the throng and toward Thames and Sam. With some difficulty keeping up due to his tangibility and all that, Al was off like a prom dress.  
  
\-------  
  
    Sam rapped his fist against his thigh, growing more and more anxious as Thames gleefully began to set the bomb some distance away. Al had better hurry the hell up, because time was not on their side.  
  
    Lo and behold, he saw him making his way through the mass, presumably following Alia. Making sure he was unseen by Thames, he motioned for Al's attention. With a silent acknowledgement, Al continued his way toward the float.  
  
    _Let this work. God, please let this work._  
  
    Unexpectedly, Al skidded to a halt. Sam's stomach knotted up.  
  
\-------  
  
    "What? What do you mean, Ziggy's going nuts?" Al asked with alarm.  
  
    Alia punched the handlink and shook it. "He says something doesn't add up." She read the screen and scrunched up her face. "Florette's body wasn't found after the explosion. She just disappeared. Which means..." Her face lit up in worry.  
  
    "...something else happened to her." As the realization dawned on him, Al angrily punched the air. "Geoffrey! That slimeball! He's gonna kill her!"  
  
    "It gets worse."  
  
    "Worse?" Al echoed in astonishment  
  
    "If you don't find her within the next..." Alia squinted at the screen, "5 1/2 minutes, Ziggy says there's a 96.93% chance she'll never be found."  
  
    "What?" Al began to rapidly search the festival, twisting his head this way and that. "And how long until the explosion?!"  
  
    "6 minutes," Alia informed him hopelessly, "Florette's two blocks over. With this crowd, you'll never make it back in time."  
  
    Despondent, Al put his head in his hands and slouched over. "What am I gonna do?! I save Florette, and 115 people die. I save those people, and Florette's history!"  
  
    "But it's just one person, right?"  
  
    Al looked up. Sam was there, gazing at him questioningly. He dropped his hands and said, earnestly, "I can't let her die this time, Sam."  
  
    Sam didn't ask what he meant by that. He clenched his jaw, looked toward Thames, and made a split second decision. "Go save her."  
  
    "Sam?"  
  
    "I'll stop the bomb. You go get Florette."  
  
    Al shook his head worriedly and leaned closer. "You gotta be touching me when I leap, Sam, or it won't work."  
  
    "Don't worry. I'll catch up." Sam was already backing into the crowd. "Now go!" The crowd closed in, and he was gone, leaving Al and Alia in astonishment. Al didn't have much time to think, though, because now he had to get to Florette, and yesterday.  
  
    "I'm sorry, Sam," Alia said, even though she knew she wouldn't be heard.  
  
    "Never mind that; take me to Florette now!" Alia nodded, and they pushed their way through the parade.  
  
\-------  
  
    Sam stopped before he reached Thames, closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath. If he did this, there was no turning back. Even in his worst disobedience, he'd never pulled anything like this. They'd skin him alive, and quite literally. Every one of his scars called out to him and reminded him of how they came to be, each individual suffering from a majority of his life. His hands shook, the same hands that plunged a knife into his best friend's back because he was so scared of the punishment. God, he didn't want to suffer again. And he was too cowardly to die. There were too many times he wanted to, and too many times he'd tried...only to back out last minute.  
  
    It didn't matter if anything Al had told him was true. He couldn't go back there. Not under any circumstances. He'd get out now, or he would stop being so cowardly.  
  
    He stomped over to Thames, yanked him out of the back of the float, and tossed him to the ground. "Hey!" He ignored him and focused on disarming the bomb, but Thames had grabbed him by the legs and yanked him to the ground. "The fuck you think you're doin', Sammy boy?!"  
  
    Sam growled and planted his foot in his face. "Fuck off! And don't call me Sammy!"  
  
    "You're gonna pay for that, you son of a bitch!" Thames was on top of him now, throwing a punch at him. But Sam maneuvered out of the way and he hit the pavement, swearing loudly as his knuckles bled. A swift punch from Sam, and Thames was out cold on his back again. Sam grinned and sat up. He'd wanted to hit that asshat for a very, very long time.  
  
\-------  
  
    "She's over there, Al!" Alia pointed to Florette, who was shaking in fear. Geoffrey was behind her, a knife hidden at her back, and leading her away from the festival.  
  
    Al was on him like white on rice. Grabbing a giant, whimsical flamingo from someone's hands, he thwacked it over Geoffrey's head and knocked him back. Florette fled from him and hid behind Al. "Oh, Ben! Ben, he was going to kill me!"  
  
    "Nobody makes a fool out of me!" Geoffrey spat, "No one!" He brandished his knife at them, and Al blocked her protectively.  
  
    "You stay the hell away from my sister!" This wasn't funny anymore, and he was through playing games with him. This time, he'd make sure it was finished.  
  
    "I'll just keep coming back. You'll have to kill me," Geoffrey sneered as he egged Al on, knowing he had the guts to do what the other kid couldn't.

    Al returned the sneer. "Nah."  
  
    Meatface wasn't sure what to make of that. He lifted his knife again, when a commanding voice shouted at him. "Freeze! Drop the weapon!"  
  
    "I talked to the police, garbage breath," Al informed him, as if it were the obvious solution, and the troll just sat with his mouth open. He dropped the knife. A policeman approached him from behind, placing him in cuffs.  
  
    Another policeman wasn't far behind. "Can you handle this? I got a complaint about another fight by one of the floats." The other policeman nodded, and he left.  
  
    As Geoffrey hung his head and was led away, Al breathed in relief. "Geez louise. I'm really glad I didn't have to get into another fight. I'm too old for this chop-kick stuff anymore."  
  
    He was almost pushed over as, once again, Florette had her arms around him. "Oh, Ben..." she sobbed.  
  
    Aw man, not again. Al frowned and held her head, holding her close to him. He didn't want her to cry anymore. "Hey. I'm here for you. I'm always...always here for you." His eyes were getting misty too, and he wiped hurriedly at his cheek before pulling back with a grin. "I love you."  
  
    Florette sniffled. "I love you too."  
  
    A familiar tingling sensation began to trickle over Al, and he gasped. Not now! Not without Sam! Florette tilted her head.  
  
    "What is it?"  
  
    "Nothing. I gotta go." Al started to leave, but he stopped, turned around, and kissed her on the forehead. "Bye, Florette." Before Florette could ask anything further, he took off.  
  
    "He's this way, Al!" A scared Alia was pointing him in the right direction.  
  
\-------  
  
      Ha! Sam dusted his hands off in self-satisfaction. The bomb had been incredibly easy to disarm. It was child's play to him, who had built and taken apart plenty of bombs in his day. His smugness was short-lived, however, as he began to feel the familiar tug toward another time, another place. Dread began to fill him as he realized that he had no idea where Al was, or if he'd completed his leap yet.  
  
    "Lothos is disappointed in you, Samuel." It was Zoey, watching him with a deadpan expression and her arms crossed. "Very disappointed."  
  
    A fearful Sam rushed into the horde.  
  
\-------  
  
    "Sam! SAM!" Al barreled his way through the people, not caring who he ran into, as he searched frantically for his friend. He cupped his hands to his mouth. "SAM!"  
  
\-------  
  
    "Al! Al, where are you?!" Sam pushed party-goers aside as he ran toward he wasn't sure where, twisting this way and that as he scanned the faces for Al. A red glow began to emanate from him, and he looked at his hands in terror.  
  
\-------  
  
    Al saw him, buried in a sea of people, and his heart skipped a beat. "Over here!" Sam looked up, saw him, and frantically began to fight his way over. As Al waged his own battle with time, his vision began to tint blue.  
  
    "Sam! Hurry!"  
  
    "Don't leave me, Al!"  
  
    Just a few more feet. Why were there so many damn people here?! The music blared and the masses danced, not caring that their futures were at stake. The two terrified men were swamped, and the sand was slowly running out in the hourglass.  
  
    A violent blaze of scarlet. A blinding flash of cobalt. Two friends reached desperately across swaying arms and torsos.  
  
    "AL!"  
  
    "SAAAAAAM!"  
  
    Their fingertips touched, and the world went away.  
  
\-------  
  
    Six decades flew by as Al was hurled through time, turning his stomach inside out and making him want to blow chunks. Somebody should stop this ride, because he wanted off! What was he doing again?  
  
    Sam! Where was Sam? A hand suddenly grasped his, and there was an abrupt drop.  
  
    The light faded away, and Al still felt the pressure of someone's hand in his. He looked up dizzily, and he saw the overcome face of his friend staring back at him.  
  
    Sam's hand fell dead to his side. He breathed heavily. "Did...did it work?"  
  
    It sure felt like a leap. Al's face split into an overjoyed grin. "You bet your butt it did!" He laughed loudly as his body hunched over with immense relief.  
  
    Sam, on the other hand, was still stupefied. He wasn't sure he believed it yet. But as he felt himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming and saw no one from the Project was there, he realized he was breathing in this fresh, clean air as a free man. For the first time in thirty years. Blinking back tears, he looked at Al overflowing with gratitude. "I can't believe you did it."  
  
    A hand grabbed his shoulder and Al smiled warmly. "Not for nothin', pal, but you did save 115 people."  
  
    Overwhelmed, Sam took in his surroundings with a profound new mindset. It was the most beautiful place he'd ever seen. The wind rustled in the trees. A couple of cows grazed peacefully nearby. The sky was clear of clouds as far as the eye could see. A nearby barn stuck out in the middle of the field just under the hill, bright and intensely red. Red.  
  
    Red.  
  
    Sam gasped and staggered. He knew the suit he was wearing. He knew this place. He knew this time.  
  
    "Kid, you okay?" asked Al in concern.  
  
    "This is it," Sam panted, barely above a whisper.  
  
    "This is what?"  
  
    "This was when I was taken."  
  
    "Here? Now?"  
  
    "Yes, here and now!" Sam raced to the edge of the hill and raised a hand over his eyes, trying to breathe. "It's...it's June 16th, 1970. I was at a funeral. My friend's cousin, his body had just shipped back from Vietnam." He swallowed. "I kept thinking...about Tom, and I left to get some air. My friend Herky, he came to check on me, and when he left, they...they took me."  
  
    Al cautiously looked around him, putting the pieces together and taking note of the bland, gray suit he was wearing. "Let me guess. I'm Herky?"  
  
    His friend nodded. Both of them came to the same hopeful conclusion, and Sam was the first to say it out loud. Stepping up to about a foot away from Al, he gave a lopsided grin. "This is our chance. We can stop it from ever happening."  
  
    "Then the timeline will be fixed and things can go back to normal!" On second thought, Al wobbled his hand. "Well, relatively normal. Point is, we'll be back in business!" He pressed a finger to his lips. "So, all I have to do is not leave, and they won't come after you, right?"  
  
    Sam was looking past Al's left shoulder. "Not exactly." Without warning, he grabbed Al and pulled him behind a tree. A shot rang out and bark spattered into the air.  
  
    Al felt his chest in wide-eyed surprise. "Thanks, kid."  
  
    "I owed you one."  
  
    _Click._ "You're quick, son, I'll give you that." The gun was pointed at Al's head, and he stopped dead still. Thames stood behind him, in his usual good spirits. "Now why don't you come along with me before I hurt your friend, Sammy boy?"  
  
    Raising his hands, Sam said shakily, "Okay. I'll come with you. Just let him go."  
  
    "Sam!" Al called, "Don't do it!"  
  
    "Quiet, _Herky_ ," Sam warned pointedly, "This guy looks like he means business." Ah, Al was catching his drift. He went silent.  
  
    Thames giggled. "That's right, boy. Listen to me, and nobody gets hurt."  
  
    Sam inched closer. "Let him go."  
  
    "As you wish." The gun moved toward Sam, and Al took his chance. He chopped his hand into Thames's inner elbow, causing his arm to collapse and drop the gun. Sam rushed in and sent a roundhouse into Thames's chest, and the man fell to the ground in surprise. Thames, who had been expecting to encounter two teenage boys, was completely taken aback. Sam snatched the gun up and aimed it at him. Thames raised his hands fearfully. "Don't shoot!"  
  
    "You son of a bitch!" Sam's hands shook as he pulled back the hammer.  
  
    "Sam..." Al said cautiously.  
  
    Sam's back moved up and down with his breathing. Thames looked about ready to wet himself. The only sound was the rustling of the grass.  
  
    "Al." Sam's voice trembled.  
  
    "Yeah?"  
  
    "Find some rope, will ya?"  
  
    Al smiled. He knew he'd pull through.  
  
\-------  
  
    Once the knots were tied, Sam and Al looked down proudly at their handiwork. Thames's sunny attitude had been wiped away, and he looked at the both of them from the base of the tree with contempt.  
  
    "We'll be back!" he shouted.  
  
    "Yeah, yeah." Sam rolled his eyes, took off his tie, and gagged him with it.  
  
    "It looks good on him," Al commented.  
  
    "He never looked better," Sam agreed, and he turned toward Al and smiled. And Al saw, once again, the old Sam. It was a sight for sore eyes. As they swelled with the joy of new hope, Amazing Grace could be heard from the funeral on the other side of the hill.  
  
    "You did good, Sam. Get ready to leap."  
  
    Sam grinned proudly, and they waited for time to right itself.  
  
    _"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me..."_  
  
    But it didn't come. They waited still. Nothing changed.  
  
    Al cleared his throat and bounced on his heels, checking his nonexistent watch. "Well, uh...any minute now. Here we go. Let's leap." He ran his tongue over his teeth and screwed up his mouth.  
  
    _"I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see..."_  
  
    "It's not over, Al." Sam was looking at Thames, but his voice was distant. He was very still.  
  
    "Sure it is. We stopped 'em from taking you."  
  
    "I'm still me." Sam's voice was frustrated, full of self-loathing. "Because this won't stop them. They'll keep coming to get me, and they won't stop, ever."  
  
    "Then we'll keep at it," Al promised him sincerely, "We'll make sure they don't ever take you."  
  
    Sam shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, grief-stricken. "It has to be permanent. They have to know I'm a threat."  
  
    "Sam?"  
  
    Reaching into the band of his pants, Sam pulled out the gun. He aimed it at Thames, cocked it, and closed his eyes.  
  
    Al tensed up with alarm. His head jerked between Sam and their captive, who stared back with pleading eyes. "No, kid, don't! This isn't the answer!"  
  
    "I have to do it," Sam said, his voice breaking.  
  
    "Not you, Sam! What did we work so hard for, huh? You shoot him like this, and you're no better than they are!"  
  
    Sam sniffed, and Al could almost hear a soft sob as he said, "What can I say? It's what they made me."  
  
_"Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come..."_  
  
    "We worked so hard!" Al begged, flapping his arms, "Don't throw it all away! You're safe now!" God, he hoped he was getting through to him.  
  
    Until now, Sam's eyes hadn't left Thames. He turned toward Al, gave a sad grin, and tilted his head. "I'm sorry. You can't save them all, Al."  
  
    _"'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home."_  
       
    "SAM!"  
  
    Al couldn't hear himself over the crack of the gun. As he leaped forward to stop him, he shut his eyes tight to keep out the blood that was splattering his way.  
  
    "I think you'd enjoy this leap more than me, Al."  
  
    He gasped and spun around. He was back on the street in New Orleans, and an amused Sam was standing outside the bar. "Sam?" he asked, as if he hadn't said the name in a long time.  
  
    Sam's smile went away. "Al? What's wrong?"  
  
    "I--I was--You were--" Al checked himself out. The handlink was in his left hand, a cigar in his right. He wore a white shirt and red vest, and a quick feel told him his fedora was on top of his head. He sighed, closed his eyes, and said, melancholy, "You did it."  
  
    "What happened?" Sam was worried now, closing in and ducking to meet his gaze. "Talk to me. Are you okay?"  
  
    He was the same Sam as before, and his only concern was Al's well-being. Al was filled with elation at seeing his best friend back, but it was conflicted with the last image he saw of him before the timeline had been restored. Sam had saved them, but at what cost? Did it matter now? That was a Sam who didn't exist any more.  
  
    Maybe.  
  
    Al ran his hand over his face. "Yeah. I was just...worrying about something at the Project." Ziggy shrieked, and he hid the handlink in his pocket.  
  
    "Are you sure?" Sam didn't seem convinced.  
  
    "Yeah, I, uh," Al chuckled and shrugged, "I had a bet going with Gooshie, and I think I might've lost. We wanted to see how long it was until Tina got busted for carpooling with my _bedroom friend,_ if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows, and Sam groaned.  
  
    "I'm sorry I asked." Sam sighed, put his hands in his pockets, and surveyed the street. "Well, I guess I have some time to kill until I know what I leaped here for."  
  
    "Don't worry, kid." Al put his cigar in his mouth. "I know what you've gotta do."  
  
    Sam put right what once went wrong, and he leaped.


End file.
